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He looked annoyed.
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m asking you to be responsible.”
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He leaned closer.
“If you don’t pay, take out a loan.”
I stared at him.
“A loan?”
“Just do it.”
Something inside me finally went quiet.
For four years, I had been arguing with myself about whether I was being too demanding, too independent, too sensitive.
But standing there, surrounded by strangers eating food I hadn’t agreed to purchase, I finally understood.
This wasn’t a marriage.
It was an arrangement in which I provided the money and Benedict provided excuses.
I picked up my purse.
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“I’m leaving.”
He stared at me.
“You can’t.”
I walked toward the door.
“Claire!”
I kept going.
Nobody stopped me.
Outside, the cool evening air hit my face.
I got into my car and drove.
I didn’t know where I was going.
Eventually, I parked at a downtown coffee shop and sat alone with a cup of coffee I barely touched.
My phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
Benedict.
Then Benedict again.
Then Gertrude.
Finally, I answered.
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“Where are you?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
“You need to come back.”
“No.”
“You can’t leave us with that bill.”
“I didn’t create the bill.”
“You’re my wife.”
“And you’re responsible for your own dinner.”
His voice became threatening.
“If you don’t come back, you’re out of the condo.”
I almost laughed.
The condo had been purchased largely with money my parents had given me before the marriage.
Our prenuptial agreement was very clear about ownership.
Benedict knew that.
He simply hoped I didn’t.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.
Then I hung up.
The restaurant bill reportedly came to nearly five thousand dollars.
Gertrude had to put most of it on her credit cards and borrow money from relatives to settle the account.
The next morning, I returned to the condo with my best friend Brenda.
I wasn’t there to argue.
I was there to collect my financial records, personal documents, and belongings.
Gertrude was already waiting.
She demanded to know what I was doing.
“Taking my documents.”
She saw the folder in my hands.
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“What documents?”
“My financial records.”
She lunged for them.
I pulled them back.
“Don’t touch me.”
