I grew up in Regina in a family where treating people fairly was baked into my values from the beginning. I have one older brother, and my parents were deeply conscious of treating us equally. When he received an allowance, I got the same amount. When he was allowed to have a pet, I got one too—a snake for him and a cat for me, which was perfectly on brand for us.

That approach extended to my parents’ relationship. Even though my mom stayed home with us when we were little and my dad had the “big career,” I never once heard anything like, “I make the money, so I make the decisions.” It was always, “We’re a unit. We make decisions together.” It shaped how I saw the world—and ultimately why I became a lawyer. I realized I wanted to work in a field where fairness could actually shape outcomes.

After two years of general studies at the University of Regina, I was accepted into law school at the University of Saskatchewan, where I completed my Juris Doctor in 2012. Like many new graduates, I followed the well-worn path into big law. That move may seem counterintuitive given my social justice goals, but the messaging in law school is clear—if you want credibility and options later, you go to a big firm. 

I didn’t love private practice. The hours are brutal, and the pressure nonstop. It became almost impossible to have a life outside of work, let alone do the community-based work that drew me to law. In 2018, I left the firm and started working with Metro Vancouver Regional District, a regional government body managing services such as drinking water, waste management, and air quality. I started in litigation before moving into environmental policy and strategic risk work—still using my legal skills but in a more tangible way.

Around that same time, my personal life changed dramatically. I went through a contentious divorce that lasted nearly two years. Even as a lawyer, the divorce process was incredibly stressful. I had no children, I had legal training, and I had a strong support system—including close friends like Aimee Schalles, a family lawyer and now my co-founder. A friend took my case pro bono, which saved me tens of thousands of dollars. And it was still exhausting and traumatic. The whole time, I kept thinking: if it’s this hard for me, what’s it like for people who don’t have this support? 

Ironically enough for a lawyer, I didn’t have a prenuptial agreement. I had met my former partner in law school in my early 20s, and it just didn’t feel like something I needed. I thought prenups were for people with more assets and status—those who were already established. I realized just how wrong I was.

Having a prenup would have given me certainty and allowed me to finalize my divorce quickly. Instead, I spent months negotiating a separation agreement when I wanted to be fully invested in building the next chapter of my life. That experience planted the seed for what would eventually become Jointly—Canada’s first digital platform for cohabitation, prenup, and postnup agreements. Aimee moved to Revelstoke, B.C., and opened her own general practice, and she started noticing people coming in after breakups or divorces, saying “We had a verbal agreement,” only to realize it didn’t hold up. That’s when we started talking seriously about building something new.

We’d seen online platforms emerging in other areas of law like wills and wondered if we could create a way to make valid, legally sound cohabitation, prenuptial and postnuptial (after a couple is already married or living together) agreements without the usual $3,000 to $5,000 lawyer fees.

We built the platform over the past few years, entirely self-funded. The platform guides couples through these agreements by using a simple, step-by-step process. We don’t use AI. Every clause in the agreements is drafted in plain language and reviewed by us using Gavel, a platform that allows us to program conditional logic into the document. The customer’s answers to a series of yes/no questions change what they see next and what shapes their final agreement. 

We also include a course with every agreement purchase. It’s written in plain English—about a Grade 10 reading level—and walks the customer through the family law in their province. What happens without an agreement? What is the government’s default—meaning, if there’s no agreement, what could a court decide if the relationship ends?

The platform costs $379 and includes both the agreement builder and the course, covering each type of agreement it offers. It’s designed for couples to use together with a shared login. While legal advice is optional in most provinces (and required in some), the package includes a certificate of legal advice that a lawyer can sign to confirm they reviewed the agreement.

We know this kind of accessibility in terms of cost and convenience is needed. A 2024 Scotiabank survey found that 43 per cent of Canadians don’t have a will—66 per cent among people aged 30 to 45. The top reasons were a lack of affordability, convenience, and accessibility. Those are the same barriers we’re tackling—in the context of relationships rather than estates. For instance, in rural communities, there may be a shortage of legal professionals. That can present an accessibility problem if you opt for the traditional route since each member of a couple needs to hire their own lawyer. 

Right now, we operate in Ontario—having launched in March—and are awaiting final approval in B.C. and Alberta, but our goal is to roll out across the country. Legal services are provincially regulated, so the process takes time.

We’ve also built a screening questionnaire on the front end to make sure we’re a good fit for the customer. If someone has a family trust, runs a business with their spouse, or holds complex international assets, we’ll let them know we’re probably not the right tool for them. These scenarios often need more nuanced legal advice than a logic-based platform like ours can provide. But for most people with homes, bank accounts and some investments, it works really well.

So far, we’re seeing the most uptake from millennials, especially women. There’s a huge wave of women taking ownership of their financial futures by investing, planning, and learning—and this fits into that. A 2025 TD Bank survey further found that 52 per cent of Gen Z Canadians want their partner to sign a prenup or cohabitation agreement compared to just 31 per cent nationally. That signals this is no longer niche but a crucial part of how younger Canadians are considering relationships and financial planning. They’re already using platforms like Willful or Epilogue to make wills. Jointly is doing the same for family law.

This work is the most professionally aligned I’ve ever felt. It feels like the culmination of what I hoped to do when I joined law school. We’re helping people protect themselves and their futures by making something that used to feel scary and inaccessible feel normal, approachable, and empowering.

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We’ve launched Jointly at a fraction of the cost of most tech startups by leveraging our experience as lawyers and using commercially available software to build the platform. We have remained self-funded and want to have full control over our product. Our goal is to help 1,000 Canadians build an agreement in our first year, and we expect to be profitable by early 2026. 

Marriage is a legal agreement, and planning for that doesn’t have to be awkward or cynical. A prenup isn’t about mistrust—it’s about clarity and fairness. It can be collaborative and fair. And if I’ve learned anything since the days of the snake and the cat, it’s that fairness goes a long way.

—As told to Liza Agrba