"Evie, that purse you bought today—why don't you just return it?"
I looked at him, and all I could feel was how terrifyingly unfamiliar this man I'd been married to for six years had become.
"Daniel, today is my thirtieth birthday."
"You didn't get me a gift. I can't even buy myself a five-hundred-dollar purse?"
He rubbed his hands together, his expression sheepish.
"That's not what I meant."
"It's just, you know, ever since Rose was born you haven't worked. She's in preschool now, and money's tight."
"We have to be smart about spending…"
I didn't want to hear another word. I stood up and cut him off.
"I'm going to shower. I still have to take Rose to school in the morning."
Early the next day, Daniel left for work and I dropped Rose off at preschool.
At ten on the dot, the courier from Hermès arrived as promised.
When that forty-thousand-dollar bag was placed in my hands, my chest ached so hard I couldn't breathe.
In Daniel's eyes, five hundred dollars on a purse for me was wasteful—but forty thousand on a bag for another woman was perfectly fine. What a joke.
But this wasn't the time to feel sorry for myself.