“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?”
