The truth? I was bringing in three times his salary. Had been for three years—senior associate at Brennan, Chennon & Associates, one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. But I kept my maiden name at work, deposited my bonuses into a separate account he didn’t know existed, and let him believe his two hundred thousand was carrying us.

Why? Because the first time I mentioned a promotion, he threw a wine glass at the wall.

“Don’t embarrass me,” he’d said, voice deadly calm as burgundy stained our white kitchen. “Men leave women who emasculate them. Is that what you want—to be forty and alone?”

I learned to make myself small. Learned to say, “David’s the breadwinner,” so often I almost believed it. Learned to hide the Hermès bags clients gifted me. To downplay every victory. To pretend my late nights were just filing paperwork.