The same day every month, I would start feeling tense inside.
The mail had not even arrived yet, but Robert already knew when my pension would come.
He would sit at the kitchen table, place his coffee beside him, and wait.
When the envelope finally landed in my hands, I barely had time to open it.
Robert would hold out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
At first, I thought he simply wanted to count the money.
But after the first month, I realized it was not a habit.
It was a rule.
I gave him my entire pension.
He took it, put it in his pocket, and always said the same thing.
“You don’t need money. I pay for everything.”
The first time, I laughed.
The second time, I said nothing.
By the third time, I already felt uncomfortable.
It was money that came in my name.
I had worked my whole life for it.
And yet, after retiring, I did not even have twenty dollars in my own wallet.
My name is Margaret.
I was sixty-three at the time, and Robert and I had been married for almost forty years.
He had never been a loud man.
He did not yell.
He did not slam his fist on the table.
