We had been dating for half a year. It was that lovely honeymoon period when even the minor flaws of your partner appear to be quirky little charms, and the future seems nothing but bright and promising. Richard struck me as almost perfect: bright, well-off, incredibly well-read, always smartly dressed. We spent our weekends tucked away in cosy coffee shops, roaming the city parks, chatting about films, and it honestly felt as though our minds and interests aligned.
Yet, before long, it became clear we were imagining very different futures. Id always pictured a relationship as a true partnership, both sides pulling their weight. But for Richard, it slowly dawned on mehe saw it as a way to enjoy comfort without putting in any extra effort.
The big talk came one evening over a simple supper. He was pouring tea, and suddenly said, Look, arent we both tired of traipsing between each others places? Paying rent for two separate flats is daft. Shall we move in together? Maybe find a good two-bedroom closer to the centre?
I smiled, since Id been gently hinting at this myself for ages. But what he said next made me set my cup down and really look at this man I thought Id figured out.
But lets be clear on the rules from the start, he said, all business, as if we were negotiating a contract, not building a life together. Were both modern people. I reckon expenses should be splitcompletely down the middle. Rent, bills, shoppingeverything: half and half.
I nodded. Fairs fair, after all.
And what about running the home? I asked, expecting him to say something about sharing it all.
Richard laughed awkwardly and, with a disarming grin, replied, Thats what nature sorted for us. Youre the womanyouve got a knack for making places homely. So, cooking, cleaning, laundrythats your domain. Ill help here and there, maybe take the bins out or bang a shelf back up if it falls. But the real works yours. Surely you want to be the lady of your own home, dont you?
Silence settled between us. I stared at him, trying to piece this logic together.
Why pay a cleaner when youve got a beloved woman?
I didnt argue. Instead, I decided to speak his own language.
Alright, Richard, I hear you, I said calmly. You want a partnership financially, fine. And you want the house just so: good dinners, crisp shirts, spotless floors. But, like you, I work full-time. Ive neither the energy nor the will to spend every evening tending to chores.
He tensed, but carried on listening.
So, heres my suggestion, I continued. Since were splitting costs, lets do this properly. We hire a cleaner twice a weektidying, ironing, cooking a few meals for us. Well split the cost as well. That way, everything is clean and lovely, foods ready, and no ones overwhelmed. Ill add the finishing touches to make it homelylight some candles, pick out some curtains.
His face shifted: first puzzled, then annoyed, then downright distant. I could see the cogs turninghe didnt like the sum they were adding up to.
Why let some stranger into our home? He grimaced. Its a waste of money. Honestly, youre a womancant you cook dinner for your man? Thats caring, not work.
Yet when it came to the actual cost of a womans work, it immediately turned into love and purpose. Making dinner? That was care. Chipping in for groceries? Suddenly, a transaction.
Richard, I said softly, if I have to cook after an eight-hour shift while youre on your PlayStation or watching telly, thats not care, its being taken advantage of. If were splitting the finances, we split the work as well. Or we hire someone and both pay for it. I wont accept paying just like you but putting in double the graft.
He stayed silent. Supper continued in uneasy quiet, and he finally said he needed to think on things.
The next morning, there was no usual Good morning message. Later that evening, a cold Stuck late at work text came. By the third day, hed vanished altogetherno replies, no calls.
A week passed before mutual friends let me know: Hes saying youre too materialistic and far from domesticated. He reckons youre just after his money and not cut out for married life.
At first, it stungsix months worth of time, dreams, illusionsgone. But soon, I felt relief.
His disappearing act was the clearest answer to it all. He never wanted mehe just wanted a cosy nest, free from effort.
Richard leftand thank goodness for that. I hired a cleaner for myself. Now, I come home to a sparkling flat, brew myself a cuppa, and realise: what happiness, not having to serve someone who never valued me.
