My Husband Invited 75 Guests To Stay In Our 2-bedroom Apartment For A Month. He Expected Me To Pay $12,000 For His Mother’s Birthday. So I Drained The Joint Account And Caught A Flight Out Of His Life.

Liam didn’t notice her silence and continued. “And they’ll all stay here in our house,” he said.

“Mom says, ‘Why waste money on hotels when we have our apartment?’ Of course it will be a bit crowded, but we’re family, right? It’s no big deal to be a little uncomfortable. The important thing is to be all together. We’ll give the bedroom to Grandma. At her age she needs her own space. We’ll sleep on the sofa in the living room. Uncle Barry’s family can sleep in the kitchen on foldout beds. The kids can sleep on the floor in sleeping bags. They’ll love it. It will be like camping. And we’ll fit the others in somewhere. There’s room for everyone. Besides, they won’t all come at once. Some earlier, some later. So in the worst case scenario, there will only be about 40 of us at a time, not 75,” he said.

Hannah slowly put her fork down on the plate. Something inside her made a quiet, almost inaudible click, but it was definitive and irreversible, like a switch being flipped.

She looked at her husband. He was still smiling ecstatic, waiting for her approval.

She picked up her plate on which a little pasta was left. She ate it all slowly, methodically, without rushing.

She chewed the food while looking out the window. Liam started to get a little restless.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Aren’t you happy? Come on, it’ll be great. A party like this is remembered for a lifetime,” he said.

Hannah didn’t answer. She ate every last bite, chewed it, and swallowed.

She picked up a napkin, neatly wiped her mouth, and placed it on the table. She stood up, took her plate to the sink, and put it inside along with the fork.

She turned on the tap, rinsed the plate, turned off the tap, and dried her hands with a tea towel. Liam followed her every move with his eyes.

His smile began to fade. “What’s wrong? Say something,” he said.

She, without a word, left the kitchen and went to the bedroom. Her steps were silent but firm.

She opened the wardrobe and from the top shelf took down a large suitcase, a black one with wheels. It was the one she used for work trips.

She placed it on the bed, opened the zipper, and started packing. Methodically, without haste but quickly, she folded two pairs of jeans and put them at the bottom.

Four t-shirts, a warm jumper, a casual dress, and another slightly dressier one. She took a pile of underwear from a drawer and put it in the suitcase along with some socks.

She also packed a toiletry bag with her personal items that she took from the bathroom. Liam appeared in the bedroom doorway.

His eyes were wide. “What are you doing? You’re not actually packing, are you?” he asked.

Hannah didn’t answer. She continued packing.

She took a book from a shelf, a mystery novel she had been wanting to read for a long time but had never had time for. She put her phone charger, headphones, passport, and all her bank cards into the suitcase.

“Hannah, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Liam’s voice trembled as he took a step into the room.

Hannah zipped up the suitcase and lifted it. It was a little heavy, but it didn’t matter.

She turned to her husband and looked him directly in the eyes without emotion. Calmly, she said, “I’m leaving.”

Liam was dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth. “What do you mean you’re leaving? Where? Why?” he asked.

Catalina walked past him and dragged the suitcase to the entrance. Her movements were precise and confident.

She knew exactly what she was doing. She put on a pair of sneakers, comfortable shoes for the journey, took her jacket from the coat rack, put it on, and zipped it up.

She grabbed the handle of the suitcase. Liam ran after her, his voice increasingly filled with panic.

“Wait a minute. Let’s talk. What’s wrong? Why are you reacting like this? What upset you so much? I meant well,” he said.

Hannah opened the front door. A gust of cold air entered the apartment.

She turned one last time to her husband. She looked at him calmly, almost with indifference.

“I’m not angry. I’m just leaving. Your 75 guests, your month-long party, your two-bedroom apartment—all yours. Your party, your problem,” she said.

She stepped out into the hallway, closed the door, and began to drag the suitcase. Liam flung the door open again, came out in his house slippers, and shouted after her.

“Where are you going? Come back here right now! This is crazy! Let’s talk properly! I don’t understand what’s happening!” he said.

Hannah calmly walked down the stairs. One step, then another.

The wheels of the suitcase rumbled. She didn’t turn back or respond.

Liam shouted something else from above, but she was no longer listening. She went out onto the street.

The Financial Blockade and the Airport

The night was cool. The wind ruffled her hair.

She took out her phone, opened the Uber app, and requested a ride to Auckland airport. A car was assigned; it would arrive in three minutes.

Hannah waited at the entrance of the building, looking at the street. As soon as the car started moving, she took out her phone and opened her banking app—the joint account where they saved for common expenses.

There was $4,500 in it. It was money they saved for repairs, holidays, and emergencies.

Hannah, without hesitation, transferred $4,400 to her personal card. She did a quick calculation in her head.

$2,000 was the money she had contributed in recent months. The other $2,200 was her rightful half of the joint savings.

Simple maths. $100 remained in the joint account.

If Liam was thrifty, it would last him a week. If not, that was his problem.

Next, she opened another banking app for the joint credit card. The limit was $5,000.

They normally used it sparingly, only when necessary, but the card was in her name. Liam was just an authorized user.

With two clicks, Hannah blocked the card. The system asked for confirmation, and she confirmed.

Card blocked. Access denied to all users.

Now Liam couldn’t pay for the cake, the restaurant, or anything else. Thirdly, she opened another app for her personal salary account.

Liam had access to this account as a trusted person. She had set it up that way a year ago, just in case.

Hannah went to the settings, found the authorized persons section, selected Liam, and pressed remove. The system asked for confirmation, and she confirmed.

Access denied. Now he couldn’t even check the balance, let alone withdraw money.

The phone vibrated. It was Liam.

Hannah looked at the screen: her husband’s photo, the name Liam, the ringtone. She rejected the call and left the phone on her lap.

Almost instantly it vibrated again. Liam again.

She rejected it again and sent him a short message. “Don’t call,” it said.

She put the phone on silent, leaving only the vibration. The phone continued to vibrate every 30 seconds.

Hannah ignored it, looking out the window at the passing city at night. The street lights, the shop windows, the few pedestrians.