I wish I hadn't done that

I earn thirty-eight thousand a month. I give my wife, Elena, thirty-eight hundred for expenses, and the rest goes toward my parents' mortgage for their luxury penthouse.

Since that penthouse was a pre-marital gift I bought for them, I figured it was only right for a son to show filial piety.

Elena managed every penny, even taking up a side hustle as a DoorDash driver after her corporate job just to keep us afloat.

I prided myself on her thriftiness; she never once complained.

That was until