My Fiancé Said I Should Pay 70% for Our New Bed Because I’m ‘Heavier and Take up More Space’ – So I Taught Him a Lesson

Erin’s fiancé stops laughing it off and begins to record receipts when he makes one harsh, premeditated remark too often.

Erin determines it’s time to reinterpret what “fairness,” in a house built on it, actually means. Insightful, poignant, and subtly potent, this is the tale of a woman taking back her identity.

Mark and I decided to divide everything equally when we first moved in together.

Wi-Fi, groceries, furniture, and rent are all in the middle. It seemed just. Since we were both working adults, proud of our independence, and unmarried, the concept of equality felt neat and sensible.

That was something I appreciated about us. The peaceful math of it appealed to me.

Until the bed broke, that feeling of equilibrium persisted.

It was ancient, a hand-me-down from the previous occupants, and it creaked as if it had more secrets than it could possibly contain. It completely gave out one night. We hit the floor hard as the slats fell and the center shattered.

I started laughing. Mark didn’t.

With a moan, he rolled over as if everything had collapsed on him.

With a snap, “Honestly, Erin,” he said. “This thing probably couldn’t handle your weight anymore.”

I believed I had misheard him. He wasn’t kidding, though.

The following morning, I was sitting cross-legged in an oversized hoodie that still smelled like fabric softener in the living room with my laptop open.

Mark had one arm over his eyes as he lay splayed out on the couch.

“We need a new bed,” I commented as I read reviews. “Mark, that one was an impending collapse. I discovered a medium-firm hybrid mattress in a queen-size frame. It is well-supported. Additionally, the frame and mattress cost $1,400.

Mark said, “Yeah, sure,” as he browsed through his phone. “Whatever you think.”

So I placed the order. I used my card to pay for it up front because it seemed simpler that way.

I casually called out from the kitchen and sent him the digital receipt later that afternoon.

“Hey, honey, just Venmo me your half when you get a chance.”

After entering the kitchen, my fiancé took a seat at the counter.

“Half?” he inquired. “Why?”

“Yeah, half,” I said once more. “Send me your $700 when you’re ready.”

He grinned and said, “Come on, Erin,” “You take up more of the bed than I do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed as if it didn’t matter.

You’ve gained some weight, after all. You most likely utilize the mattress more now that you have additional surface area. Perhaps you should contribute 70%. “70-30 seems reasonable, doesn’t it?”

“Hold on. “Are you serious?” I inquired.

“Yes,” he shrugged and said. “Honestly, it’s just simple math. Additionally, you’ll most likely dent the foam more quickly.

Something inside of me froze, as if my mind was slowing down to prevent me from responding.

“So… because I gained a bit of weight while I was recovering from a broken leg, you think I should pay more?” I asked, choking back my embarrassment.

“I’m not attempting to offend you, baby. Be less sensitive. Although it’s a joke, it’s not really a joke. Do you sense me?

I wanted to be completely engulfed by the earth.

“It doesn’t sound like a joke, Mark,” I replied. “It sounds like you’re being ugly.”

“It is,” he made sure to say. “You just don’t get it!”

He resumed scrolling as if the discussion had ended. However, it wasn’t. Not for me.

as that was not the first instance. Mark had been sneaking in comments like coins into a jar ever since my injury.

“Guess I’m dating the comfier version of you.”

“At least now I won’t get cold at night with my personal space heater.”

“Erin, please don’t sit on my lap! I prefer to keep my knees intact.

“Careful, you’ll tilt the bed again.”

Every one of his “jokes” caused a tiny, painful red line to appear on my skin. I had continued to act as though I didn’t feel it.

However, as I sat across from him and he sipped his coffee as if nothing had happened, I came to the realization that Mark actually believed he was being reasonable.

He muttered, “Don’t give me that look,” as he peered at me through the rim of his cup. It’s reasonable. You talk about equality all the time. This is simply equal in terms of utilization.

“All right. With my fingers curled around my own cup of tea, I reiterated, “Equal based on use.”

He nodded and appeared nearly content. “I’m glad you agree, Erin,” he murmured.

I looked him in the eye and remained silent. I gave him the impression that he had made a really good argument by simply nodding once, slowly.

My quiet, however, did not imply consent. Somewhere inside of me, I heard a door close.

He was the reason I fell, and he had been there the day I shattered my leg. I moved to catch the desk as it began to topple over when he lost his hold when he was bringing it upstairs.

I missed the final three steps and landed hard on the tile after his shoulder knocked me as I twisted. I had bruises on my arm. I had a broken leg. The jokes began before the cast was taken off, despite his admission that he felt terrible.

I now realized why they continued.

The bed was delivered four days later while Mark was at work. I thanked the delivery men, signed the paperwork, and stood at the doorway, gazing at the blank canvas before me.

It was lovely. The room felt peaceful because of the dark oak, the smooth headboard, and the soft, clay-toned bedspread.

However, it was no longer our bed.

In order to measure precisely 30% of the mattress on the right—his side—I walked to the kitchen and took out the painter’s tape. I placed the tape in a straight line. Next, slowly and steadily, I used my sewing scissors to cut the fitted sheet.

I fluffed my pillows, leaving his thin ones close to the edge, and folded the comforter over my side. I put a little travel pillow and a scratchy throw blanket for him.

The bed resembled justice drawn in cotton and thread by the time I took a step back.

Around six o’clock, Mark arrived home and, as usual, threw his keys on the counter. Leaning down, he kissed the top of my head, his lips grazing my hairline but not quite touching it.

His words were, “Hey, babe,” “What’s for supper? I’m going hungry. Have you prepared any fried chicken? This place smells like fried heaven.

Yes, I did. I had also eaten it. I didn’t look up from my book at this point.

“Check the bedroom first, Mark.”

After pausing in confusion, he proceeded down the hallway. I heard him stop after a few seconds.

“What the hell happened to the bed?!”

I carefully got to my feet and followed his voice. His arms were erect at his sides as he stood at the doorway.

I murmured, “Come on, honey,” “I only wanted to confirm that everything was equitable. I reasoned that I should have most of the space since I’m paying 70% of the bed. That’s your thirty percent.

He remarked, “You’re kidding, Erin,” with narrowed eyes.

“No,” I quietly said. “Nope.”

“Erin, this is dramatic. even for you.

“I’m just following your logic,” I remarked as I leaned against the wall. “Equal based on use, that’s what you said, right?”

He rushed to the bed and snatched the comforter from it. He attempted to drag it to his side, but it stopped in the middle. The seam gave with a long, low tear as he pulled harder. Breathing deeply, he stood with half of it in his hands.

Without flinching, I said, “Mark, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use any of my space.”

He didn’t respond.

That night, like a child sent to bed early, he murmured under his breath while curling up on his piece of mattress with the scratchy throw blanket. I slept well, nestled in the area I had set apart for myself.

By dawn, my fiancé appeared worn out. His eyes were lifeless, and his hair was a mess.

He muttered, “I was joking, Erin,” while brewing coffee. “You know that, right?”

I didn’t respond right away. I watched him fidget while sipping my coffee.

“You’re really not going to let this go?” asked the man.

“No, I’m not,” I muttered. I felt a ghostly ache shoot down my leg for a time.

“You’re overly delicate. You take things so personally all the time. Erin, I’m barely myself anymore. I have to monitor what I say all the time.

I remarked, “Maybe that’s because it was personal, Mark,” as I put down my mug. “I’m not overly delicate. Simply put, you’re a jerk. And you don’t give a damn about what other people think of what you say.”

“So this is it?” With a shaky giggle, he asked. “You’re ending our relationship over one dumb comment?”

“No,” I replied. “You ended it the moment you turned me into a punchline.”

He scanned the kitchen as though he was looking for the me who would always laugh it off.

You’re throwing me out, so what? Over a joke?

“No, Mark,” I replied. “I’m kicking you out over a horrible pattern.”

After making my way to the bedroom, I opened the drawer containing our lease and previous receipts and took out a manila envelope that I had been secretly assembling for days.

The previous evening, I sat at my desk with an odd sense of peace rather than anger. I included all of our joint costs, including rent, groceries, electricity, and even the weekend getaway we took months ago.

I added up all the things we agreed to share. Everything was fair and well-documented.

aside from the bed.

I subtracted his 30% on that line. Deliberate and impossible to overlook, that number was marked in red ink.

He paused at the kitchen table when I put the envelope in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“It’s everything you owe me, Mark,” I replied. Every time I believed it would be worthwhile to use my savings to surprise you, I covered more ground than you did. And there’s a deadline. By Sunday, I want you gone.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m done paying for a man who thinks my body is a math problem.”

He appeared to be about to dispute, but he said nothing. What my words couldn’t do, the quiet between us accomplished.

That weekend, Mark moved out. No more apologies, no more speeches. He texted me once, as if he were the one letting go, and left his extra key on the counter. I didn’t respond.

“Good luck, Erin.”

My friend Casey texted me a party photo a month later. Mark had a red Solo cup in his hand as he sat slouched on an inflatable mattress in an empty room. He could hardly fit on the mattress.

She typed, “I guess he got his 30% from life too.”

I looked at it for a while. Then, with a soft smile, I erased it.

I didn’t require prompts. At last, I had created room for myself.

I began therapy in the ensuing weeks. Not only because of Mark, but also because I had to unlearn the notion that kindness and agreeableness were synonymous.

I couldn’t stop asking myself why I was laughing at painful things. Why was it safer to be silent than to say, “That’s not okay”?

I shared the jokes with my therapist. And how I had taken them in without realizing how much they were eroding me.

She whispered softly, “You don’t have to be smaller to be loved.”

I hadn’t realized I’d thought otherwise, but I nodded.

I resumed walking as my leg healed. It was only a block away at first, then a bit further. I hiked to the top of the trail with a view of the city before the end of the month.

I sobbed while sitting on a warm rock at the top. I was relieved to be able to breathe, not because I was depressed.

I made a haircut appointment for that weekend.

When I told the hairdresser, “Take off the dead ends,” “And give me something lighter.”

She held out several strands and said, “Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

The mani-pedi followed. As my nails dried, I drank a mango smoothie and looked through a fashion magazine, circling bold earrings I had never worn before and sandals I liked.

I tried on clothes I used to shun at the mall. I used to cover up my curves with soft t-shirts, cropped tops, and stretchy skirts. I smoothed the fabric over my hips as I stood in front of the mirror.

I said, “I love this,” and then raised my voice. “I love this!”

I stopped weighing myself. I didn’t examine my appearance by standing sideways in front of the mirror. I gave up on blending into the background of my own existence.

One morning at brunch, my friend Maya leaned over and gave me a tight grip on the arm.

Her words, “You look different, Erin,” “Confident.”

“I feel different,” I responded with a smile.

“Like… better?”

“Yes,” I said. “Like the old me.”

That day, I only thought about Mark once, when I noticed a memory foam topper on sale in Target’s bedding section. I continued to walk.

We don’t own all the weights.

Sometimes, healing manifests as purchasing for your body as it is, getting a haircut, and making smoothies—not as a project, but as something that is already deserving.