I Paid for Our Home, But He Made Me Sleep on the Couch

When I listed the riverside marriage home—the one I'd put a $400K down payment on—on a resale site, the agent asked how I could bear to slash the price and take such a loss in such a hurry.

I pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"Because of a cashmere blanket."

Last night I worked overtime until the small hours, my stomach flared up, and I broke into a cold sweat from the pain in the living room. I wanted to push open the master bedroom door and lie down on the bed for a while.

But Craig Gilbert clamped a hand on the door handle, frowning.

"Don't go in. That silk bedding and the cashmere blanket are Carissa Henson's favorites. Last time you lay on them you left your perfume behind, and her insomnia kicked in—she was up the whole night."

He shut the door tight and coaxed me softly.

"Just bear with it, make do on the couch. Carissa's only just out of the hospital after severe depression. Let's cut her a little more slack."

The sight of him standing guard over the master bedroom stung me.

All at once this home—the one I'd run around the building-supply markets for six months to furnish—felt cold enough to make me shiver.

I didn't grill him the way I usually would. I just turned around in silence and walked toward the couch in the living room.

Craig shot me a glance, assumed I was throwing a tantrum, shook his head helplessly, and went back to the study.

Looking at the notification on my phone screen confirming my mortgage-release appointment, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

This fortress they called Mrs. Gilbert—I just wouldn't be stepping into it.

——

When I woke, my stomach was still cramping.

The living room light was still on. Half a glass of cold water sat on the coffee table.

Craig hadn't gotten me any medicine.

I propped myself up off the couch and sat upright, the backs of my hands slick with cold sweat.

Light leaked through the crack of the master bedroom door, and white noise drifted out.

It was the rain sounds Carissa had to play before sleep.

I made my way over, bracing against the wall.

A sign hung on the door handle.

Sleeping. Do Not Disturb.

The sign was new.

I'd never bought it.

I pushed the door.

It was locked from the inside.

Craig's voice came from the study.

"Jennifer Fox, leave the door alone."

I turned to look at him.

He was in his pajamas, holding a cup of hot water.

He didn't hand the hot water to me.

He set the cup on the little cabinet outside the master bedroom door.

"Carissa likes warm water when she wakes in the night."

I asked,

"Where's my stomach medicine?"

He paused.

"I'll buy you some tomorrow."

I opened the medicine box in the entryway.

My stomach medicine had been expired for three months.

Carissa's sleep aids were sorted into little compartments, each label marked with a date and dosage.

Craig came over and pressed a hand on the medicine box.

"Don't go messing with her medicine."

I closed the box.

"When did she move her medicine in here?"

"She's just out of the hospital. The doctor said she needs a stable environment."

"This is our marriage home."

His brow knotted tight.

"Do you really have to be this petty about every little thing? She's only staying a few nights."

I walked toward the second bedroom.

The door swung open to wedding favors piled inside.

Carissa's easel leaned against the wall, her yoga mat spread on the floor.

I turned to look at him.

"The second bedroom too?"

Craig avoided my eyes.

"Painting helps steady her moods."

I opened my phone.

The resale platform's estimate popped up, well below what I'd paid.

I sat back down on the couch and opened my banking app.

Remaining loan balance, early-repayment rules, the penalty fee—each item laid out clearly.

Craig stood beside me.

"What are you kicking up a fuss about now?"

I didn't look up.

"Checking the accounts."

He sighed.

"Jennifer, grow up a little. Carissa's sick, you're healthy—stop fighting her over a bed."

My finger stopped.

Fighting her over a bed.

I'd spent six months running the building-supply markets, overseeing the carpentry, the plumbing and wiring, the furnishings.

That bed was one I'd settled on only after trying seven different stores.