My aunt, who is a judge, insisted that I sign a prenuptial agreement before getting married. At the time, I didn’t understand why. But I listened to her anyway.

Just one day later, my future mother in law looked straight at me and said, “Give me two hundred thousand dollars so I can buy my son a car,” and right at that moment something inside me broke for good.

My name is Amanda Fletcher, I am thirty two years old, and at that time I truly believed I was about to marry the right person.

I work as a technical architect for a construction company in Seattle, and I had spent years saving money until I could finally buy my own apartment in the Capitol Hill area.

I had been dating Brandon Whitaker for almost four years, and I felt calm about the future we planned together, which was a small wedding, a short trip to Key West, and later starting a family.

My aunt Dorothy Hale is not someone who talks a lot, but when she gives advice, people listen because she always thinks carefully before speaking.

One Sunday I invited her to lunch, and at the end she looked at me and said calmly, “Amanda, you should make a prenuptial agreement, not because you do not trust him, but because careful people do not leave important things to chance.”

I laughed and told her that Brandon was not like that, and that he did not care about my apartment or my savings, because he was kind and hardworking.

She did not argue, she just said, “I hope you are right, but if you are, he will not mind signing it.”

That sentence stayed in my head all night, and the next day I talked to Brandon about it.

At first he looked uncomfortable, but then he smiled and said, “If it helps you feel better, we will do it, I have nothing to hide.”

That answer made me feel relieved, so we went to a notary in Bellevue and signed the agreement, which clearly stated that everything we owned before marriage would stay separate, and any important financial decisions would need both of us to agree in writing.

I left feeling a bit silly for worrying, and I even called my aunt joking that I had followed her advice.

She just said, “Good, now pay attention.”

I did not understand what she meant until the next day.

Brandon’s mother, Linda Whitaker, invited me for coffee near the Fremont area, saying she wanted to talk alone.

I thought we would talk about the wedding, or guests, or small details, but the conversation changed quickly.

After some small talk, she looked at me seriously and said, “Since you are joining this family, you need to show you are here to contribute.”