How thoughtful couples are reframing marriage contracts as a foundation for trust.

When families have spent decades building wealth, protecting that legacy can feel like a moral responsibility. Parents want to ensure their children are financially secure, future inheritances are preserved, and the values behind the wealth are passed down, not lost through a messy divorce or legal dispute.

So when a son or daughter falls in love and begins planning a life with someone, it’s natural for questions to arise. What if this relationship doesn’t last? What happens to the family business? The real estate? The capital that was meant to serve future generations?

This is where the idea of a prenuptial agreement (commonly called a “pre-nup”) often enters the conversation, and where the discomfort begins.

I’ve heard it many times in my work advising some of Canada’s most affluent families. A well-intentioned parent wants to protect their child and the family wealth but worries that bringing up a pre-nup might signal distrust. The child doesn’t want to hurt their partner or start the marriage on what feels like a transactional note. The whole topic gets wrapped up in fear, guilt, and assumptions.

I used to think pre-nups were cold and unromantic myself. But over the years, I’ve come to see them differently: not as a sign of mistrust, but as an opportunity for transparency, alignment, and even love.

Before getting too far ahead of ourselves, it’s worth clarifying that prenuptial agreements are formally known as marriage contracts (for married spouses) or cohabitation agreements (for common-law partners) in Ontario. These agreements are legal contracts that spell out each partner’s rights and responsibilities during the relationship and in the event of a separation: such as how property will be divided, whether spousal support will be paid, and how specific assets or debts will be treated.

However, even without a marriage or cohabitation agreement, entering into a marriage or common‑law relationship means stepping into a legal framework that governs your rights and responsibilities. In Ontario, there are default rules that determine how assets will be divided, whether spousal support is owed, and how other financial matters are handled if the relationship ends.

“You’re getting a pre-nup either way. The only question is whether it’s one the government wrote for you, or one you wrote together.”

A pre-nup simply allows couples to opt out of those defaults and set terms that reflect their values and intentions. Or to put it another way: you get a pre‑nup by default. The real question is whether you accept a generic one, or define your own.

Don’t get me wrong: in some cases, the default rules might be just fine. But they are more complicated than the popular belief that everything gets split 50/50. Sometimes it works out that way, but the law does not guarantee it. In fact, the default rules do not always lead to a fair or equal outcome. In some cases, they can leave the more financially vulnerable partner worse off. Even for couples with modest incomes, outcomes can vary widely depending on who owns what, how debts are structured, or whether the couple is married or common-law.

And it’s not just the couple who are affected. Unclear or unfair outcomes can ripple outward, particularly when children are involved. If one parent is left without housing stability or financial security, it can have a lasting impact on the entire family system.

The legal reality: What happens without a marriage contract in Ontario

Keep in mind, I’m not a lawyer. But as I understand it, in Ontario, if your marriage ends, each spouse keeps what is in their own name, but the one with greater Net Family Property (NFP) owes half the difference to the other. This is called an equalization payment.

A key exception is the matrimonial home. Even if one spouse owned it before the marriage, the full value is included in the equalization calculation and cannot be excluded unless a marriage contract says otherwise.

Here’s an example to paint a surprising picture:

Sarah, a widowed mother of two teens, falls in love with John. After a few years together, they get married and move into the home Sarah already owns; a modest house she and her late husband worked hard to pay off. It’s worth $1.5 million and is by far her largest asset.

John, who has no children, brings $400,000 in investments into the marriage. Two years later, the marriage ends, and his investments have grown to $500,000. They never signed a marriage contract.

Because Sarah’s home became the matrimonial home, the full $1.5 million counts toward her net family property, even though she owned it before the marriage. John, however, is allowed to deduct the $400,000 he brought into the marriage from his calculation.

The result: Sarah’s net family property is $1.5 million. John’s is $100,000. Under Ontario’s equalization rules, Sarah owes John $700,000, despite the fact that her wealth didn’t grow during the marriage, and she entered it with far more to lose.

A simple marriage contract could have protected Sarah’s home, honoured her intention to leave it to her children, and prevented a deeply unfair outcome. But like many couples, Sarah and John never had a thoughtful conversation about what would happen if the marriage ended.

Maybe they didn’t know what the legal defaults were, or that they had the option to make their own agreement. Maybe they avoided the topic out of discomfort, shame, or misunderstanding. Sarah may have assumed she had little to protect. Possibly she didn’t feel like she had any wealth to protect, not realizing the value of her home would be fully included in the equalization process. John may have believed he had more to lose, with larger investment accounts, but felt that bringing up a pre-nup might send the wrong message about his faith in the relationship. Neither of them wanted to appear distrustful, so the conversation never happened.

The result: both were caught off guard by a system they didn’t realize they’d opted into. If a healthy conversation around marriage contracts had been normalized, they likely would have discovered the legal realities and crafted an agreement that reflected their actual values and priorities.

There’s a clear parallel here with creating a will. In both cases, if you don’t make your own plan, the government has a default one ready for you. When you die without a will, provincial laws determine who inherits your assets, who manages your estate, and, if you’re a parent, who will care for your children.

If you haven’t named a guardian, a judge will make that decision based on the law, without knowing your family or understanding your unique circumstances.

Of course, writing a will doesn’t mean you expect to die young, just like drafting a marriage contract doesn’t mean you expect your relationship to fail. It simply means you’re being proactive about decisions that carry emotional and financial weight.

Pre-nups: An act of love, not mistrust

Whether it’s who inherits your estate or what happens if a relationship ends, the central question is the same: do you want decisions about your finances, family, and future to be guided by your values, or left up to government defaults?

A marriage contract allows couples to plan based on what feels right to them, not what the law assumes. It offers clarity, control, and the opportunity to avoid painful surprises later; particularly when families and assets are complex.

When couples who genuinely care for one another approach this process with good intentions and mutual respect, a pre-nup is not a sign of mistrust. It is a sign of emotional maturity. It may even be one of the most loving things they do.

What’s more, the very act of having the conversation (naming expectations, talking about money, and aligning on what feels fair) can strengthen the relationship. And if the relationship does end, the clarity you created together can save both parties from costly litigation, uncertainty, and unnecessary hurt.

Seen this way, a marital agreement (and yes, we might be better off dropping the emotionally-loaded term “pre-nup”) is about clarity, fairness, and mutual care.

At the very least, every couple entering a serious relationship should understand the legal default rules so they can make an informed decision about whether those rules reflect their values. If they do, that’s great. If not, there is no shame in wanting something more tailored and intentional.

Even if signing a pre-nup isn’t the right decision for your relationship, the conversation itself still matters.

It’s far better to talk about it openly, and agree together that you’re making a conscious choice, than to default into something simply because it was never brought to light.

That conversation is an opportunity to build trust and alignment. And if you’re worried that raising the topic might lead to disagreement or discomfort, that’s an even stronger reason to talk about it now.

Starting a marriage by avoiding hard conversations, especially about money, doesn’t make the misalignment go away. It just sends it underground, where it will surface later in more complicated and painful ways.

In families where wealth, legacy, and complexity intersect, this conversation becomes even more essential. Not to protect money at the expense of love, but to honor both with openness, compassion, and care.