I mean, we’re modern people, aren’t we?he said, proposing we move in together, but with a catch: expenses split fifty-fifty, but all the housework falls to me, becausewell, because I’m a woman. The silence was deafening. I was utterly stunned.
Wed been dating for half a year. That phase when every little flaw of your partner seems endearing, charming even, and the future looks nothing but bright. Edward felt almost perfectintelligent, well-off, well-read, always impeccably dressed. We spent weekends lounging in cosy cafés around London, strolling through Hyde Park, discussing films. It seemed we shared the same interests, the same dreams.
But soon enough, it became clear we were drifting in different directions. I pictured a partnership built on equality, while he saw it as a shortcut to comfortwithout any effort on his part.
The conversation about moving in erupted over a simple dinner in my flat. He poured the tea, then suddenly said, Look, we’re both tired of shuttling between our places. Renting two flats is pointless. Lets get a nice two-bedroom closer to the city centre, split the rent.
I smiled; Id hinted at this step for ages. But the words he spoke next made me set my cup down and look at him anew.
Lets clear up the ground rules first, he continued, business-like, as though we were hashing out some supply contractnot building a life together. Were modern, right? Budgets separate, all shared expenses fifty-fifty. Rent, bills, groceries, everything split evenly.
I nodded. Fair enoughequality is equality.
And how will housework be handled? I asked, expecting him to say, Evenly.
Edward faltered, then grinned disarmingly. Natures settled that for us. Youre a woman, homeliness comes naturally to you. Cooking, cleaning, laundrythats your domain. Ill pitch in when I feel like it: take out the rubbish now and then, fix a shelf if it falls off. But the main responsibilitys yours. Surely you want to be the lady of your home?
The room went quiet. I stared at him, trying to piece this puzzle together.
Why pay for a cleaner when you have a loving girlfriend?
I decided not to argue, but to meet him on his own terms.
Edward, I hear you, I said calmly, You want financial partnershipfair enough. You want a well-run home: good food, crisp shirts, tidy floors. But I, just like you, work full-time. I have neither the energy nor the desire to spend evenings being your housekeeper.
He tensed, but listened.
So heres my counter-proposal, I pressed on. If we split expenses, lets do it properly. Well hire a cleaner twice a week: cleaning, ironing, meal prep for a few days. We split that cost down the middle, too. That way, the place stays spotless, dinners are sortedno one is overloaded. Ill take care of the finishing toucheslight some candles, pick the curtains.
His expression shifted rapidly: surprise, irritation, and finally, detachment. I could see the numbers ticking over in his mind, and the final figure clearly didnt suit him.
Why bring a stranger into the house? he sneered. Thats just wasted money. Youre a womansurely making dinner for your partner isnt so hard? Its love, not a job.
When the conversation turned to the real value of womens labour, he disguised everything as love and destiny. Cooking dinner is caring; pitching in for groceries? Thats just business.
Edward, I said gently, If Im making dinner after an eight-hour day while you play games or watch telly, thats not caringits exploitation. We agreed to split costs, so we split all the work, too. Either we share duties, or we pay someone else to do them. I wont pay the same as you, then work twice as hard.
He said nothing. The rest of dinner unspooled in taut silence, then he muttered, Ill need to think about it.
The next day, he didnt send his usual Good morning. By evening: a terse textworking late. Three days later: nothing at all. Calls went unanswered.
A week on, mutual friends told me: He said you broke up because youre selfish and not housewife material. That I only cared about money, and was never ready for a real home.
At first it hurt. Six months of hope, plans, shared moments. But relief quickly followed.
His disappearance was the clearest answer: he didnt want me, he wanted a convenient warm nestminus any responsibilities.
Edward vanishedand thank goodness. I hired a cleaner for myself. I come home to a spotless flat, brew myself a cuppa, and realise: what a joy it is not to serve someone who doesnt value you.
