She folded a blouse.
“You handle everything.”
“Money.”
“Insurance.”
“Taxes.”
“Retirement.”
“Repairs.”
“Bookings.”
“If something happens, you fix it.”
I stared at her.
“I thought that was a good thing.”
“It was.”
“Until the person who fixes everything came home without a job.”
That landed.
“You think because I’m unemployed for one evening, I suddenly can’t handle our life?”
“I think I built my whole life around your ability to keep everything safe.”
“Whose choice was that?”
Her eyes flashed.
“Don’t.”
“No.”
“You said it.”
“So answer.”
“Whose choice?”
Marissa stopped packing.
For one second, I saw something behind the fear.
Shame.
Then defensiveness covered it.
“You liked it.”
I went quiet.
