Then he said quietly, “People are going to think I’m living off my wife.”
“Who cares what people think?”
“I care.”
“Then build your career. Save your money. Help your mom. We’re building a life together, Michael. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”
Our marriage was good. Then Michael’s career took off. So did the way he talked about the condo.
“My condo.”
The first time I heard him say it, we were having dinner with friends. The second time, he said it to a contractor. I reasoned it was harmless. I had spent years making sure Michael never felt like less of a man because I had more money when we met. I didn’t realize that somewhere along the way, my effort to protect his pride had taught him something else. That what was mine would ultimately become his simply because he wanted it badly enough. Now he stood inside my home while my belongings sat in the hall.
