I always thought money disagreements in marriages were about big things: buying a house, saving for retirement, or whether to splurge on a vacation. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd be arguing with my husband over Wi-Fi.

The Sunday afternoon sun filtered through the windshield as I drove home from the grocery store, my mind drifting to how Thomas and I had gotten here.

When we first met, I was impressed by his financial responsibility. He tracked his expenses meticulously, paid off his credit cards monthly, and had a robust savings account. It seemed like a green flag. He was a responsible adult who wouldn't drag me into debt.

Our first year of marriage had been smooth. We opened separate accounts alongside a joint one for household expenses. It made sense then. We both contributed equally to the account for the mortgage, utilities, and groceries.

As I pulled into our driveway, I sighed. What had started as practical financial management had morphed into something else entirely.

I brought the groceries inside. As I put them away in the kitchen, I remembered how different things were now.

Thomas's version of "fair" slowly morphed into an obsession with splitting every penny. The separate accounts were fine but then came the meticulous splitting of every single expense based on who used what.

"Andrea, you used the hot water for 40 minutes today during your bath. That's definitely going to bump up our gas bill," he had said last month, holding a calculator in his hand.

"Thomas, it was only 15 minutes, and that was because I pulled a muscle at yoga," I replied.

He just shrugged. "Still, that's extra, so I'm increasing your part of the bill this month."

I placed a carton of almond milk in the refrigerator, remembering how groceries became the next battlefield. If Thomas didn't eat something, it was my expense. The yogurt I bought for breakfast? Mine alone. The almond milk for my coffee? Also mine.

"I don't drink almond milk," he had stated flatly while reviewing one of our grocery receipts. "That's $4.29 you owe the joint account."

"But you drink the regular milk that we split," I pointed out.

"Yes, because we both use it," he replied slowly as if explaining to a child.

It wasn't just food. It was everything. The cleaning supplies were apparently my responsibility since I did most of the cleaning.

The Netflix subscription was split 70/30 because he claimed I watched more shows. The laundry detergent was primarily my expense because, according to him, I had more clothes.

A while later, I started doing laundry and recalled how Thomas had started Venmo requesting me for his portion of meals I cooked. If I made pasta with a special sauce I knew he liked, he'd eat it happily, then send me money for "his share," as if our home was a restaurant and I was his server.