“My name is the only one on it.”
Marcus looked at Mr. Hernandez.
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” Mr. Hernandez said. “You’re listed as an occupant, Mr. Reed. Ms. Walker is the tenant financially responsible for the unit.”
Marcus looked stunned.
“But I live here.”
“You’re welcome to submit your own application if you’d like to remain after her tenancy ends.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Application?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Income verification and credit approval would be required.”
That landed exactly where I knew it would.
Marcus turned toward me.
“You planned this?”
“No.”
I pointed toward the food.
“I planned that.”
His eyes moved to the catered dinner.
Then to the cake.
Then back to me.
“What?”
“That dinner was supposed to celebrate your contract.”
He stared at me.
“I ordered it before last night.”
“Then what is all this?”
I looked directly at him.
“Last night you told me I wasn’t your wife.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Claire, seriously? This is about that?”
“No.”
“You’re moving out because of one stupid argument?”
“No.”
“Because I didn’t clean some dishes?”
“No.”
His voice rose.
“Then what the hell is happening?”
I opened the folder in front of me.
“This is happening.”
Inside were twelve months of household expenses.
I slid the first page toward him.
Marcus barely looked at it.
“What is this?”
“Rent.”
Another page.
“Utilities.”
Another.
“Groceries.”
Another.
“Your phone.”
Another.
“Camera insurance.”
Another.
“Your Adobe subscription.”
He stopped.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because apparently I needed paperwork to see what my relationship actually looked like.”
His face reddened.
“You said you supported my career.”
“I did.”
“So what? Now you’re punishing me because I’m finally succeeding?”
“No.”
“Sure looks like it.”
Natalie started to speak.
I raised my hand gently.
I wanted to answer him myself.
“I’m not punishing you, Marcus.”
“Then what do you call this?”
“I call it taking you seriously.”
He frowned.
“You told me I’m not your wife.”
“I was angry.”
“But you were right.”
That stopped him.
I continued.
“We never got married. You never proposed. Every time I brought up the future, you said you needed your career established first.”
“Claire—”
“For ten years, I’ve been paying like a wife. Planning like a wife. Cleaning like a wife. Supporting you like a wife. Rearranging my life around yours like a wife.”
“I never asked you to do all that.”
There it was.
The sentence I somehow knew was coming.
I nodded.
“You’re right.”
He opened his mouth.
I continued before he could speak.
“You didn’t ask me to sacrifice my office so you could have a studio. You didn’t ask me to pay the extra rent. You didn’t ask me to fix your car or cover your phone or buy groceries every week.”
His expression softened slightly.
“Exactly.”
“But you accepted every single one of those things.”
His face changed again.
“And whenever I needed something from you,” I said, “you acted like basic responsibility was some unreasonable demand.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Last night I asked you to put a plate in the dishwasher.”
“I was tired.”
“So was I.”
“You know how much pressure I’ve been under.”
“So do you know how much pressure I’ve been under?”
Silence.
I waited.
He had no answer.
For ten years, Marcus always had something to say.
That night, finally, he didn’t.
He walked toward me.
“Claire, come on.”
Those three words nearly broke me.
Because I knew them.
Claire, come on.
I had heard them when I asked about marriage.
When I questioned money.
When I wanted vacations he couldn’t afford.
When I wanted help around the apartment.
When I said I was tired.
Claire, come on.
They always meant the same thing.
Don’t make me uncomfortable.
This time, I didn’t move.
He lowered his voice.
“We’re not throwing away ten years over one bad night.”
“I’m not throwing them away.”
“Then stop this.”
“I’m ending what those ten years taught me.”
He looked toward Natalie.
“Can we talk privately?”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“No?”
“You had ten years of private conversations with me. I’m not going to let you talk me out of this one.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe.”
I handed him another folder.
“This contains every account I’m removing myself from. Anything legally yours stays yours. I didn’t touch your equipment. I didn’t damage anything. You have thirty-five days before the lease ends.”
He stared down at the folder.
“What am I supposed to do?”
For some reason, that question hurt more than anything else.
Because I realized I had answered it for him for years.
Where will the rent come from?
Claire will figure it out.
Who will buy groceries?
Claire.
Who will remember the bill?
Claire.
Who will clean up?
Claire.
Who will make everything okay?
Claire.
But there was finally a new answer.
“I don’t know.”
He looked at me like I had slapped him.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know.”
“You’re seriously going to leave me hanging?”
“No, Marcus.”
My voice stayed quiet.
“I’m going to stop holding you up.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then his expression changed.
The anger disappeared.
For the first time, he looked frightened.
“Claire.”
I hated how quickly my heart reacted to my name in his voice.
“We can fix this.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll do more around here.”
“This isn’t about dishes.”
“I’ll start paying half.”
“You’ve promised that before.”
“This contract changes everything.”
“No. That’s the problem.”
“What?”
“Your next opportunity was always supposed to change everything.”
He stared at me.
I continued.
“First it was the documentary.”
“That fell through.”
“Then the Dallas production company.”
“They hired somebody internally.”
“Then the festival.”
“You know what happened.”
