“This home meant a lot. I raised my daughter here. But I’m returning to my wife.”
Evan translated: “He says he’s moving for work.”
Then money came up. Thomas stated a fair price. Evan scoffed and countered insultingly low, adding:
“You know how women are—she wants a pretty kitchen. I handle decisions.”
My stomach twisted.
When Thomas suggested putting the condo in one name to simplify the contract, Evan responded instantly:
“Perfect. Just my name.”
I froze.
Thomas hesitated. “Does your wife… agree?”
Evan laughed. “She doesn’t understand anything. And even if she did—it’s not her business. I pay. I own. She lives comfortably because of me.”
Something in me cracked. Quietly, but completely.
On the drive home, Evan was proud. “I crushed that negotiation.”
I stared out the window.
“Mm.”
He didn’t notice.
At home, after he collapsed onto the couch with a beer, something inside me finally stood up.
“Evan,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“Later. Game’s on.”
“No. Now.”
He turned, annoyed. “What’s the problem?”
“Whose name were you planning to put the condo in?”
He blinked slowly.
“In ours.”
“That’s not what you told Thomas.”
Silence.
“You understood that?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, he looked shaken.