Groceries: average $900, sometimes more when prices climbed and Ellie decided strawberries were the only acceptable fruit.

Health insurance premiums through my hospital plan: $640.

Car insurance: $190.

School supplies, clothes, medications, copays, birthday gifts, household repairs: average $300 or more.

Total: a little over $6,000 every month before emergencies, holidays, or Jason’s spontaneous purchases disguised as investments in his career.

Then I pulled Jason’s contributions.

Transfers to the joint account: irregular, average $1,200 a month over the last twelve months.

Payments made directly: his truck.

That truck was a black Ford F-150 with leather seats, upgraded wheels, and a payment that made me feel faint the day he signed the paperwork. He had insisted he needed it for “client presence,” though his clients usually met him in conference rooms or on Zoom. He treated the truck like proof he had become someone. He washed it more often than he loaded the dishwasher.

Then there was Melanie.

Jason’s sister Melanie Bennett had been a recurring expense in our marriage, though she did not appear on any budget line. Her requests came through Venmo, Cash App, text messages, and guilt. Rent short. Car note. Just until payday. Emergency groceries. Phone bill. Kid’s field trip. Hair appointment framed as job interview prep. She was thirty-seven years old, worked when she felt like it, dated men with motorcycles and unresolved custody issues, and treated Jason like an ATM with childhood trauma.

In eighteen months, nearly $10,000 had gone from our joint account to Melanie.

I stared at the total for a long time.

$9,840.

Not including cash Jason had handed her.

Not including groceries I had bought when she came over and “shopped” from my pantry.

Not including Christmas gifts for her children that I purchased because Jason promised to handle them and then forgot on December 23rd.

I downloaded the Venmo records. Dates. Notes. Amounts. Some had emojis. A laughing face beside “rent short again.” A prayer hands emoji beside “promise I’ll pay back.” She almost never did.

At 2:13 a.m., I sat back in the kitchen chair and looked at the spreadsheet.

There was a strange calm inside me.

I had expected anger. I had expected grief. Instead, what I felt was clarity so clean it almost felt cold.

Jason had asked for separate accounts.

I would give him separate accounts.