My Stingy Husband

My name is Anna Scott. I'm twenty-seven years old and have been married to Mike Carter for two years and three months. My first date with Mike was at a small restaurant near the school. He ordered a serving of Mapo tofu, I had fish-flavored shredded pork, and two bowls of rice. When it was time to pay, he took out his mobile phone and calculated the bill for half a minute: "Mapo Tofu 22, Fish-Flavored Shredded Pork 38, rice 4, total 64." "You pay 38 plus 2, that's 40; I pay 22 plus 2, that's 24. Just transfer me 24," he said. At that time, I thought he was dependable and didn't take advantage of anyone. Looking back now, that so-called "dependability" was really just a setup for his later nitpicking. After we got married, Mike Carter took the initiative to suggest keeping a household account book. He said, "Couples should keep clear accounts to avoid money fights later on." I didn't object; after all, I had just graduated and didn't have much savings. The dutch pay system did seem to reduce conflicts. But gradually, I realized Mike Carter's "stinginess” went deep into his bones. Last Wednesday night, I worked overtime until nine, staring at the project report on my computer screen, my eyes aching badly. Too tired to cook, I opened a takeout app and ordered Braised Chicken and two Iced Americanos. The Braised Chicken was just for me, cost 45 dollars, and since I didn't plan to charge Mike Carter, I didn't record it in the ledger on the living room coffee table. Two Iced Americanos for 32 dollars, using the coupon Mike Carter had saved from last month. I thought I'd note it down and later deduct it from his monthly allowance of 500 dollars. When Mike Carter came home from work, he went straight to the coffee table right after changing his shoes. He flipped through the ledger, his finger sliding over the pages, then suddenly slammed the book onto the sofa with a bang. "Anna Scott. You didn't mention the takeout from Wednesday night at all!" I was rubbing my temples and froze at his words. "I forgot about it." "What about the Iced Americano? Thirty-two bucks, and you used my coupon!" His voice sharpened, his eyebrows knitting tightly together. "Do you think I'm easy to fool, so you can just brush me off like that?" I looked at his taut face and suddenly felt he was somewhat unfamiliar. But it's just thirty-two bucks; is it really worth making such a fuss over?