He itemized my body like a business expense.

He itemized my body like a business expense.
The “Date Night Invoice” should’ve been a joke—but it wasn’t.
Every line was a price on my time, my touch, my existence.
I thought I was overreacting. Then other women whispered, “Me too.”
This isn’t just about one man. It’s about the quiet, creeping eco

I didn’t pay his invoice; I paid attention. That spreadsheet stripped the romance from our evening and exposed something colder: a belief that affection is an investment that must yield returns. Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it—in his texts, in past relationships, in stories my friends told with a nervous laugh that sounded too much like recognition.