“What?”
“You’re building it.
I’m supposed to move in when you’re finished.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Then tell me one major decision about our future where my no has been treated like a real no.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I got out of bed.
The floor was cold beneath my feet.
I crossed the room and opened the closet.
On the top shelf was a narrow document box I had owned longer than I had known Grant.
Inside were papers from my grandmother’s estate, records for the apartment, old insurance documents, and a photograph of my grandmother standing in the kitchen before the cabinets had been repainted.
I did not pull the papers out because I intended to make a legal argument at three in the morning.
I pulled them out because I needed to touch something that reminded me my life had existed before Grant began describing it as temporary.
He watched me put the box on the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Remembering.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means this apartment wasn’t a stepping stone when my grandmother left it to me.
My career wasn’t a hobby before you decided travel was inconvenient.
My name wasn’t meaningless before you decided yours should replace it.”
“Talia—”
“And I wasn’t unfinished before your mother decided I needed fixing.”
His expression hardened.
“Stop making this about my mother.”
“It became about her when you agreed with her.”
“I did not agree that you needed fixing.”
“You told her I would settle down after the wedding.”
He looked away again.
There was the truth.
Not a secret plan with documents or hidden accounts.
Nothing theatrical.
Something simpler and, to me, worse.
Grant had believed marriage itself would become leverage.
Before the wedding, I could object.
After the wedding, he believed I would accommodate.
I would stop fighting about the job because we were married.
I would stop defending the apartment because we needed a family home.
I would accept the name because changing course would embarrass people.
I would have children according to a timeline discussed around somebody else’s dining table.
Nobody needed to force me if they could make resistance expensive enough.
Grant sat on the edge of the bed.
“I thought you wanted a family.”
“I wanted a life with you.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.
It should have included me.”
The phone was still lying on the bedspread.
I picked it up.
Grant saw what I was doing.
“Do not make some impulsive career decision because we’re having a fight.”
I almost answered him immediately.
Instead, I read the agreement again.
I had already reviewed it twice earlier that week.
The role was real.
The responsibilities were demanding.
