Divorce Over Two-Fifty

"That will be two dollars and fifty cents," the ice cream vendor chirped, a cheerful end to a warm afternoon.

My daughter, Lily, beamed up at me, eyes wide for a rainbow-sprinkled cone.

But before my fingers found my wallet, a cold voice cut through the air.

"What do you think you' re doing, Ava?"

It was Leo, my husband, arms crossed, face a mask of disapproval.

He shamed me, publicly, over two dollars and fifty cents.

"It' s the principle," he snapped, throwing a five-dollar bill at the vendor. "Consider this an advance. Transfer me one dollar and twenty-five cents by tonight.