The bill came in a black leather folder, and my husband grabbed it before the waiter could even set it down.

“Put it all on mine!” Daniel said, holding up his credit card like a trophy.

There were eight of us around the table at Bellamy’s, the fanciest steakhouse in town. Four couples. Steaks, lobster tails, three bottles of wine, appetizers nobody finished. I’d seen the folder open for a second when the waiter turned it around. The total at the bottom was almost five hundred dollars.

Our vacation savings account had three hundred and twelve dollars in it.

I knew because I’d checked it that morning, at the kitchen table, while the kids ate their cereal.

I leaned over and spoke quietly, so only Daniel could hear.

“Honey,” I said. “That’s almost five hundred dollars. Can we talk about this first?”

He turned to look at me.

And then he said it. Not quietly. Loud enough for the whole table to hear.

“Shut your mouth. You don’t earn a dime!”

The table went completely silent.

Claire stopped with her wine glass halfway to her mouth. Ben looked down at his plate. Nina put her hand on her husband’s arm.

Daniel kept going. Like he hadn’t noticed.

“I make the money,” he said. “So I decide how to spend it.”

And then it happened.

Hic.

I hiccup when I get nervous. I always have. Since I was a little girl. I hiccupped through my first piano recital. I hiccupped through my wedding vows. My old boss used to say she could tell how a meeting was going just by counting my hiccups.

Humiliation makes it worse.

Hic.

Daniel rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes at me, in front of everyone.

“Seriously, Emma?” he said. “Don’t start making a scene.”