“You’re Not My Wife,” My Boyfriend Said After 10 Years — He Never Expected Me to Agree

He frowned.

I looked at the apartment.

At the equipment I helped finance.

At the kitchen I had cleaned a thousand times.

At the man I had loved through nearly my entire adult life.

“I’m leaving the job I accidentally accepted.”

“What job?”

“Your unpaid wife.”

His face tightened.

“The woman who pays when you’re short.”

I took a breath.

“The woman who waits when you’re not ready.”

Another.

“The woman who makes excuses for you.”

My voice softened.

“The woman who keeps proving she’s worth choosing while you keep deciding whether you’re ready to choose her.”

Marcus said nothing.

I opened the door.

Behind me, he whispered:

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

I looked back one final time.

“Yes, you did.”

His eyes met mine.

“You just never thought I would leave because of it.”

Then I walked out.

For the first week, Marcus called constantly.

I ignored most of the calls.

Then came the texts.

We need to talk.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean what I said.

Ten years has to mean more than this.

Then anger.

Natalie put this in your head.

Then bargaining.

I’ll pay all the rent next month.

Then nostalgia.

Remember New Orleans?

Remember our first apartment?

Remember when we said we’d grow old together?

That one hurt.

I cried in my new apartment for nearly an hour.

But I didn’t go back.

Because memories were not evidence of a future.

They were evidence of a past.

Three weeks later, Marcus asked to meet.

I agreed.

We met at a coffee shop near Lady Bird Lake.

He looked different.

Not dramatically.

Just tired.

For once, he wasn’t carrying a camera.

“I got approved to stay in the apartment,” he told me.

I smiled.

“Good.”

“I had to put down a larger deposit.”

I said nothing.

“The commercial company paid the first half.”

“That’s good, Marcus.”

He looked at his coffee.