“How much did Marcus contribute this month?”
“He’s waiting on two invoices.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He has a big commercial shoot next week.”
“Claire.”
I stared at my computer.
Natalie leaned forward.
“How much?”
“Two hundred.”
Her eyebrows went up.
Our rent alone was $2,450.
“Two hundred dollars?”
“He bought groceries too.”
“The energy drinks?”
I sighed.
“Natalie.”
She shook her head.
“You know what scares me?”
“What?”
“You talk about him like he’s your teenage son.”
That irritated me.
“He works incredibly hard.”
“So do you.”
“He’s building something.”
“So are you. The difference is, you’re building his life and yours at the same time.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
She looked around the apartment.
The second bedroom had once been my home office.
Now it was Marcus’s editing studio.
The hallway closet was filled with camera equipment.
Half the living room had become storage for tripods, cases, microphones, and lights.
My desk was squeezed into the corner of our bedroom.
Natalie pointed toward it.
“You gave him an entire room.”
“He needs it.”
“And what do you need?”
I didn’t answer.
She softened.
“I’m not telling you to leave him.”
“Sounds like you are.”
“I’m asking whether the future you keep sacrificing for is ever actually arriving.”
That sentence stayed with me.
But not enough to change anything.
Not yet.
