I was heading out to visit my mom after her stroke and asked to borrow my husband’s car. His response shook me: “Sure—$65 a day!” I was shattered when I realized he didn’t see me as his wife… just a roommate with a bill. But while I was gone, karma delivered a lesson he won’t forget.
I stared at the kitchen calendar, circling the dates in red marker. Three days at my mom’s house. Just three days to help her adjust after her stroke. I’d already packed my overnight bag and prepared meals for Liam and our daughter, Emma, to heat up while I was gone.
“I’ll be taking the car tomorrow morning,” I said, my back to Liam as I finished writing the instructions for Emma’s weekend activities.
A woman holding a calendar | Source: Pexels
From the living room couch came the familiar sound of the soft tap of his thumb against his phone screen.
“Sure! Glad you asked,” Liam said, not bothering to look up. “I want you to start paying me for using my car. I looked up the prices… $65 a day should cover it.”
I turned around, certain I’d misheard him. “What did you say?”
“Sixty-five a day. That’s actually cheaper than rental places charge.” His eyes remained fixed on his phone, his voice casual, as if he were commenting on the weather.
A blue car parked near a house | Source: Pexels
“You’re joking, right?”
He finally glanced up. “No, I’m serious, Sara. You use it all the time for your errands and to visit your mom. It adds up… wear and tear, miles, maintenance. The down payment was mine. If you use other people’s stuff, you have to PAY FOR IT!”
The marker slipped from my fingers, leaving a small red dot on the tile floor. “I’m the mother of your child, Liam. I’m your wife.”
He shrugged, already looking back at his phone. “That doesn’t mean you drive my car for free.”
A man sitting on the couch and using his phone | Source: Pexels
My throat tightened as I tried to process what was happening. This car—the one we’d picked out together three years ago, the one I’d made half the payments on, the one I used to drive Emma to school every morning… was suddenly his alone.
“Got it,” I said.
I walked out of the kitchen, pulled my phone from my pocket, and called my best friend, Jess.
“Can you drive me to my mom’s tomorrow? I’ll explain when you get here.”
A distressed woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
When Jess pulled into our driveway the next morning, I kissed Emma goodbye, told her to be good for her dad, and walked out without saying a word to Liam. He watched from the doorway, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as I got into Jess’s car instead of ours. Sorry, “his.”
“Everything okay?” he called out.
I rolled down the window. “Just respecting your property rights. See you in three days.”
Jess waited until we were on the highway before asking what happened. When I told her, she gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles went white.
“He did what? Sara, that’s… that’s not normal.”
“Is any of it normal anymore?” I whispered, watching the world blur past my window. “I do everything, Jess. Everything. And he acts like he’s doing me a favor by existing in the same house.”
A depressed woman leaning on a car window | Source: Pexels
“When did it get this bad?”
I shook my head. “I don’t even know. It happened so slowly I barely noticed.”
***
Mom’s house was just as I remembered from childhood… small but warm, with faded floral wallpaper and family photos covering every surface. She was sitting in her recliner when we arrived, looking smaller and frailer than I’d ever seen her.
“There’s my girl,” she said, her smile slightly crooked from the stroke. Her left arm remained limp in her lap.
I hugged her gently, breathing in the familiar scent of her rosemary oil. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck!” she chuckled weakly. “But the doctor says I got lucky. It could have been much worse.”
A senior woman smiling | Source: Freepik
I spent the afternoon organizing her medications, scheduling follow-up appointments, and preparing easy-to-heat meals for the coming week. As I worked, I told her about Emma’s school play, the dog’s latest antics… everything except what had happened with Liam.
But later that night, as we sat drinking tea in her living room, she fixed me with the kind of look that mothers perfect over decades.
“Something’s wrong, dear. I can see it in your eyes.”
I tried to brush it off. “Just worried about you, that’s all.”
She shook her head. “Sara, I’ve known you since before you drew breath. Don’t insult me by lying.”
The tears I’d been holding back all day finally spilled over.
Close-up shot of a sad woman’s teary eyes | Source: Pexels
Between sobs, I told her everything—not just about the car incident, but about all of it. How Liam and I split everything 50-50 financially, but how the actual work of our life together had become entirely my responsibility. And how lonely I felt in my own marriage.
Mom listened silently, then reached out her good hand to take mine.
“When your father was alive,” she said, her voice soft with memory, “we never once discussed who paid for what or who did more. We were a team. That’s what marriage is supposed to be.”
I nodded, wiping tears from my cheeks. “I don’t think Liam and I have been a team for a long time.”
“Then maybe it’s time to make some changes,” she said, squeezing my hand. “You deserve better than this, darling.”
An older lady holding a young woman’s hand | Source: Freepik
I spent the next two days helping Mom adjust to her new reality, but her words kept echoing in my mind. “You deserve better than this.”
***
When Jess dropped me off at home, I steeled myself before walking through the front door. What I found inside shook me.
The living room was littered with empty takeout containers. Dishes were piled in the sink. Emma’s school books were scattered across the floor, and our dog, Max, came running to greet me with uncombed fur and desperate eyes.
An adorable dog in a room | Source: Unsplash
Liam emerged from his home office looking like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Thank God you’re back,” he said, running a hand through his unwashed hair. “This week has been insane. I don’t know how you do it.”
I set my bag down slowly. “It’s been just three days. What happened?”
