“I think you should stay somewhere else.”
“For tonight?”
“A month.”
“You want me to keep paying here and pay for a hotel?” He shrugged. “You make more than I do.” Barely. But that had become another justification.
“If you cared about this relationship,” he said, lowering his voice, “you would understand that I need time to breathe.”
Something inside me became very quiet. For eight months, I had mistaken exhaustion for love requiring work. That night, for the first time, I understood the difference.
“You’re right,” I said.
Daniel’s shoulders relaxed. “Really? You understand?”
“I do,” I said, reaching for my keys. “And I think I can give you more space than you’re asking for.”
“What does that mean?” But I was already opening the door. “To figure something out.” Then I left.
The Leasing Office
I drove to my best friend Ava’s house. She opened the door in taco-print pajama pants. “Did somebody die?” “No.” “Do I need shoes?” Despite everything, I laughed. Then I cried.
At her kitchen table, I told her about the rent. The shopping. The arguments. The hotel request. She did not tell me to leave Daniel. She said: “Find out what your actual options are before you decide anything.”