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.”