Natalie looked uncomfortable.
“What do you want to do with that?”
I picked up a knife.
“Eat it.”
She burst out laughing.
So did I.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe it was grief.
But for thirty seconds, we stood in the kitchen laughing until tears ran down our faces.
Then there was a knock.
Mr. Hernandez, the property manager, stood outside holding paperwork.
“I brought the acknowledgment copy you requested.”
“Perfect.”
He stepped inside while I signed the final document.
That was when Marcus came home.
I heard his key first.
Then his voice.
“Claire? Something smells amazing.”
The door swung open.
Marcus walked inside carrying a camera bag.
He was smiling.
“I knew you were up to—”
He stopped.
His eyes moved from Natalie…
to Mr. Hernandez…
to the boxes lining the wall.
Then to the paperwork on the table.
The smile disappeared.
“What’s going on?”
I folded my copy of the document.
“Dinner.”
Marcus looked around again.
“What are all these boxes?”
“My things.”
“What?”
“My things, Marcus.”
His eyes snapped toward Mr. Hernandez.
“Why is he here?”
Mr. Hernandez shifted politely.
“I was delivering documentation.”
“What documentation?”
I answered.
“My notice.”
Marcus stared at me.
“What notice?”
“I’m leaving the apartment when the lease ends.”
He laughed once, as if I had made a terrible joke.
“Okay. Very funny.”
Nobody laughed.
His expression changed.
“Claire?”
“I’m serious.”
“You can’t just terminate our lease.”
“Our lease?”
His eyes narrowed.
I placed the original agreement on the table.
“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.
