My hand trembled as I clicked another tab. “New Budget.” A different woman’s name appeared. Same building. Different unit number. The projected move-in date was two months from now.
The air left my lungs slowly. This wasn’t a financial awakening. This was a replacement strategy.
That night in bed, he said, “I need a partner, not a dependent.”
I turned to face him. “Since when am I a dependent?”
He hesitated. “I just want someone operating at my level.”
At my level.
Ten years ago, when I earned more than him while he built his prototype in our garage, that “level” hadn’t mattered. But I didn’t argue.
“Okay,” I said calmly.
He frowned. “Okay?”
“Yes. Let’s split everything.”
Relief flickered across his face. “Good. I’m glad you understand.”
“But we split everything,” I continued. “The house. The joint investments. The savings accounts. And the company.”
His fork paused midair. “What about the company?”
“The one I signed for as guarantor when you couldn’t qualify for the business loan.”
“That was just paperwork,” he said quickly.
“Was it?”
He went quiet.