He could turn three minutes of ordinary footage into something that made people emotional.
And when he spoke about the future, he made you believe you could already see it.
“I’m going to have my own production company someday,” he told me on our fourth date.
We were sitting on the hood of his ancient Honda Civic eating tacos from a food truck.
“And when I do, I’m buying you a house with a ridiculous kitchen.”
I laughed.
“Why?”
“Because you complain every apartment kitchen is too small.”
“I’ve known you for three weeks.”
He grinned.
“I plan ahead.”
That was Marcus.
He always planned the beautiful parts.
Someone else just had to handle everything required to reach them.
Eventually, that someone became me.
When we first moved in together, things were fairly equal.
I worked in operations for a healthcare software company.
Marcus worked freelance.
Some months he earned almost as much as I did.
Other months, he barely made enough to cover gasoline.
Whenever he came up short, I helped.
It seemed reasonable.
Partners helped each other.
At least that was what I told myself.
Then one bad month became three.
Then his camera broke.
Then he needed editing software.
Then he needed a better laptop because his old one couldn’t handle larger projects.
Then there were business cards.
Website fees.
New lenses.
Travel expenses.
Lighting equipment.
Every purchase came with the same promise.
“This is the last big thing I need, Claire.”
Then another big thing appeared.
When rent increased, I covered the difference.
When Marcus forgot the internet bill, I paid it before service was disconnected.
When his car needed repairs, I put $1,800 on my credit card because he had a shoot the following morning.
When he couldn’t pay his portion of groceries, I said nothing.
When he stopped paying his portion altogether, somehow I said even less.
Marcus never directly asked me to support him.
That was part of what made it easy for him.
He would simply look stressed.
Mention how close he was to landing a major client.
Tell me he hated disappointing me.
And eventually I would say:
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
Those four words became the foundation of our relationship.
I’ve got it.
Rent?
I’ve got it.
Electricity?
I’ve got it.
Groceries?
I’ve got it.
Car insurance?
I’ve got it.
Dinner?
Laundry?
Cleaning?
Appointments?
Taxes?
Birthday gifts for his mother?
I had all of it.
Marcus had his dream.
My sister Natalie noticed long before I did.
She visited one Saturday morning and found me sitting at our dining table with two laptops open.
One contained spreadsheets from work.
The other contained our household budget.
“Are you seriously working on a Saturday?”
