Chapter 2 - The Price of Being Loved
For almost a year, I had explained away the warning signs because love is very good at dressing greed in soft clothes. Ethan’s company was always “one investor away” from turning around. Margaret always needed help “just this once.” His family always spoke of money like mine was proof of devotion and his absence from the bills was proof of pressure. I paid for dinners, covered vendor deposits, loaned Ethan money for payroll, and told myself that partnership sometimes looked uneven before it became stable.
But stability never came. What came was expectation. Ethan stopped asking before using my card for little things. Margaret began referring to “our wedding budget” even though her side had not contributed anything but opinions. When I pushed back, Ethan said I was being cold. When I asked about repayment, he said I was keeping score. When I reminded him the baby was coming, he said children were expensive anyway, so I should get used to sacrifice.
That afternoon in Margaret’s living room, the truth finally stood still long enough for me to see it. They did not want a wedding. They wanted access. They wanted the bank account, the house, the business, the woman who had been trained by her own hope to keep giving until gratitude appeared. Ethan’s silence near the door told me he had not been surprised by his mother’s demand. He had been waiting for it.
“Open the door,” I said.
Margaret laughed once. “Don’t be dramatic. A pregnant woman should be grateful a decent man still wants her. If Ethan walks away, what exactly do you think you’ll be?”
May you like
I looked at Ethan. He said nothing. Not one word. That silence did more damage than Margaret’s cruelty, because it answered every question I had been afraid to ask.
Then Margaret reached for my purse.
