I have never seen my mother angrier than when I announced to her, at age 11, that my ultimate goal was to marry a rich man.
Outraged that he had not assimilated her feminist attitude, she replied clearly: “No, if you want to be rich, you must earn money by yourself. Never depend on a man for cash.”
It’s a motto I’ve strived to live by. I took pride in being the breadwinner of my family during my nine-year relationship, until it ended abruptly just six months after I got married at 31, when my fiancé announced that he didn’t want to get married after all.
Especially not for me.
Though the pain left my brain scrambled with despair, I assumed that at least the details of our divorce would be straightforward after such a short marriage. What was mine was mine, and what was his was his. But I was wrong.
A series of unusually cruel emails from my husband informed me that, by law, he was entitled to half of everything I had: savings, pension, investments and, most annoyingly, the lump sum my mother had put towards our three-bedroom semi-detached house. My mother’s hard-earned savings were “a shared gift” and therefore I had no legal right to ask for them back.
Eve Simmons’ mother was outraged that her feminist attitude had not been assimilated when, at the age of 11, she declared that she wanted to marry a rich man. Her mother replied: “No, if you want to be rich, you must make money for yourself. Never depend on a man for money.”
Even though we both contributed equal amounts of our own money and paid the same monthly mortgage, borrowing that much money without my salary would never have been possible. I called a family friend, a divorce lawyer at one of London’s top firms. Had he been wrong? His response: “He’s right, you didn’t sign a prenuptial agreement.”
Throughout our relationship, I was embarrassingly naive when it came to money. Like many heterosexual couples, he took on the role of finance and life manager.
I had always worked long hours and worked hard, which made, for example, calling mortgage companies practically impossible during the day. He had more free time and said he didn’t mind our arrangement.
Unfortunately, this also meant that he could claim that my mother’s money had been “spent” and there was nothing I could do to challenge it.
Like most wide-eyed engaged couples, we were allergic to the word “prenup,” assuming they were only necessary for those who a) were secretly planning an eventual exit or b) had a ton of cash.
What a fool I was. It’s not just the financial losses (or, rather, those of my mother) that hurt. But perhaps, if there had already been an agreement, I would have been spared the traumatic dealings with a husband I barely recognized.
Negotiating money can bring out the most terrifying side of people you thought were decent. Be prepared to witness your former loved one transform into an alien from another world who speaks to you as if you were their slightly inept accountant. Be prepared for phrases like, “Please can you do the following?” and “as I mentioned above.”
This is all coming from the person who, just a few months ago, wiped the smudged eyeliner off your face and hung your underwear on the clothesline.
Now, two years on, I have become the death knell of marriage among my friends, who raise an eyebrow at any mention of marriage and ask about their savings portfolio. You can never know what someone is really capable of, I tell them. Cynical though it may sound, I couldn’t help but feel relieved when I read that the vast majority of Britons are in favour of prenups.
According to a survey by a London law firm, 66 percent of adults think financial settlements are a force for good.
More and more couples are opting for them: the proportion has risen from just 1.5 percent of couples in the 1970s to 17 percent today, according to the most recent survey.
A prenuptial agreement is a contract or deed signed by both parties before they get married, which sets out the details of the financial division in the event of a divorce.
But I don’t think this figure is high enough (sorry, romantics). As more and more women earn more than their male partners (in 2020, 25 percent of married couples had a female breadwinner), we need to protect ourselves.
I bet most of these women have faced more obstacles than their male counterparts in their quest to earn a decent salary.
Many women have reached the top of their careers while taking on the bulk of the housework and childcare. However, the sad reality is that after all the battles for equal pay, it is quite possible that a man will take away half of their success if they try to divorce him.
Divorce lawyers tell me that their high-income female clients are shocked to learn that this is a possibility. “Popular culture tells us that divorce is all about men being financially disadvantaged,” says David Brown, a divorce lawyer at Wartnaby Hefford, a law firm in Leicestershire.
“But that’s only because men have historically made more money, which is no longer always the case. Too often, clients mistakenly assume that financial distribution is based on gender.”
Traditionally, divorce agreements were geared in this way to protect women, who were often not financially independent but were the sole caregivers of children. This is still sometimes the case, but less and less. In the modern world, this general rule seems outdated and wrong.
Fortunately, my husband decided not to come after my savings and pension, possibly because the legal fees to claim them would not have been worth it or perhaps because he knew deep down that it would be a mistake.
But, because of a sizable student loan that hadn’t yet been paid off, I was left with less money than he was when it came time to buy our separate properties. I stayed in my mother’s flat for a year to save up for a down payment.
Would I have kept my mother’s savings if I had asked for a prenuptial agreement? The answer is probably yes, although it would not be guaranteed.
A prenuptial agreement is essentially a contract or deed signed by both parties before they get married, setting out the details of financial distribution in the event of a divorce.
The average cost of lawyers’ fees ranges from £1,000 to £5,000, but they are ultimately non-binding in the UK. “A judge makes the final decision on who gets what during a divorce. If they don’t agree with the terms of the prenup, they won’t uphold it,” explains Brown.
This is because as circumstances change, with children and changes in employment, an old prenuptial agreement will no longer be considered fair or relevant.
‘A prenuptial agreement should be updated after the birth of each child and approximately every five years to give you the best chance,’ Brown advises.
However, in cases like mine, where the marriage lasts less than three years and there are no children involved, a prenuptial agreement is likely to be accepted.
“The court will also want to check that the contract was drawn up at least a few months before the marriage and that both parties had independent legal advice,” Brown said.
There is a common misconception that prenups are reserved for the wealthy. In fact, anyone with more than £10,000 saved up (roughly double the cost of obtaining the document) can benefit.
A survey by a London law firm suggests that 66 percent of adults think prenups are a force for good.
“A few thousand pounds in a prenup is considerably less than the £5,000 or £6,000 in lawyer fees that it would cost you to fight for your money through the court system,” says Brown. “It’s better than nothing.” Perhaps the most mind-blowing fact I learned about divorce during my separation was that even decades after the divorce is final, an ex can still claim rights to your financial assets, with or without a prenup.
The key is to ensure a “clean break, full and final settlement” or consent order so that neither party can make future claims.
In one high-profile case, a woman received half a million pounds of her ex-husband’s wealth 30 years after their divorce. He spent their marriage living in a caravan with virtually no disposable income, but made several million from business dealings a decade after their split.
If it weren’t for a family friend who works in the legal field, I would never have learned that there is a standard contract that prevents this, called a consent order.
This is a simple document, costing between £1,000 and £2,000, which basically erases each party’s rights to any income they may acquire after the divorce.
If it weren’t for my consent order, my ex-husband might be entitled to 50 percent of the profits from my upcoming book about my divorce. How ironic would that be!
