But we'd made it through together.
At eighteen, I thought we'd be married soon.
Ten years later, I was still a failure who couldn't even cover rent.
My feet stopped mid-step.
Memories surged up from somewhere deep, one after another.
At nineteen, the day after we made things official, his family went bankrupt.
At twenty, I landed a great summer internship.
The day after I got the offer, he said he'd been diagnosed with depression. That he wanted to die every single day.
I gave up the internship to stay by his side.
At twenty-one, an executive invited me to join his company.
That same night, Brendan was hit by a car and left fighting for his life. I gave up my ticket into a company about to go public and stayed at his bedside around the clock.
…
I wanted to count every instance, but there were too many.
The car accident. His parents dying. Acute pneumonia. Even thyroid cancer.
Every single time.
Every single time I thought life was finally looking up, something would happen that drained every cent I had.
The questions that had plagued me for years suddenly had an answer.
Why were we so unlucky.
Why was I still this miserable after trying so hard.
Because all of it was a lie.
I braced my hands on my knees and watched sweat drip from my face, one drop at a time.
Then I laughed.
Deceived for ten years. Working three jobs to keep us afloat. Giving up every chance to climb out, over and over again.
Hilarious. Truly hilarious.
When I was done laughing, I looked up toward the exit.
My floor.
The instant I stepped out of the stairwell, it hit me.
I'd been here before.
Six months ago, I'd delivered food to this unit.
A few drops of soup had spilled.
I was apologizing, offering to pay for the damage, when the woman at the door pulled out her phone and aimed it at me. She was all curves and red lips.
"Get on your knees and lick the soup off the floor. Otherwise I'm reporting you."
She was smiling the whole time.
Every instinct told me to refuse.
But the day before, Brendan had just broken his leg and gotten fired.
One complaint would cost me five hundred dollars.
I couldn't afford to lose it.
When my tongue touched the floor and the cold soup,
her shrieking laughter drove into me like a thousand needles.
Through my eardrums, straight into my skull, and lodged there.
She'd pouted into the phone, voice dripping sugar.
"Do you think I'm being mean?"
"Not at all. She should feel lucky she gets to entertain you."
The humiliation of having my dignity ground underfoot was so total that I never stopped to wonder why the man's voice on that call sounded so familiar.
By the time I ran home in tears,
Brendan was checking me over in a panic, looking for injuries.
Had he been laughing at me then? At how badly I hid it?
Not like him.
He'd been hiding for ten years.
I stared at the doorbell.
My hand was shaking, but I pressed it anyway.
The moment the door opened, I heard that familiar voice.
"You bought durian? Perfect. Bring a piece back for that little beggar at home. She loves it but won't spend the money."
My whole body started to tremble.
So that's where all those "treats" he brought home came from.
How many times had he humiliated me without my knowing.
Winona Swanson leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, look who's here."
"Brendan, your little girlfriend tracked you down."
My nails dug into my palms so hard it hurt.
A few seconds later, Brendan appeared.
He looked at me. Not a trace of surprise on his face.
He lifted his hand and held out a piece of durian.
"Durian. Your favorite. Want some?"
Something taut inside my skull snapped, and the world tilted sideways.
