Chapter 3 · I Cleared Our Shared Life

On the seventh day, he finally lost it. "Seriously, Susan? You're even labeling your yogurt with your name now?"

"We're splitting everything down the middle, remember? I eat what I buy; you guys eat what you buy. That's fair," I replied.

"Can you drop this whole fifty-fifty thing already?"

"You were the one who brought it up."

"I was saying it offhand."

I looked at him and nodded slowly. "Oh. So, are we still doing this fifty-fifty thing or not?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Then what's the problem with me labeling my stuff?" I replied.

He stormed off, fuming.

I stood in the kitchen and heard the bedroom door slam shut.

Chloe called me up, saying the meeting with the client went great, the contract was basically set, and I needed to sign it this Friday.

"The design fee is 400 thousand dollars, and the first payment is thirty percent, so 120 thousand dollars will hit our account first," she said.

"Okay," I replied.

"Is your husband still making a scene?" she asked.

I smiled. "Let him act up. I'll do my own thing."

"You're way too patient. If it were me, I would've kicked him out ages ago."

"I'm not in a hurry."

I hung up, washed my own cup, and headed back to the bedroom.

Edward was already asleep, his back to me, wrapped up tight in the blanket.

I quietly changed into my pajamas and lay down on the other side of the bed.

There was about one foot between us.

On Friday afternoon, I signed the contract at the client's office.

The total design fee was 400 thousand dollars, and Chloe and I split it fifty-fifty.

The first payment was 120 thousand dollars, so my share of 60 thousand was deposited into the studio account.

After signing, I bought myself a coffee and sat at the entrance of the mall, sipping it.

My phone buzzed.

Edward: [I'm having some colleagues over tonight. Cook a few dishes.]

I nearly spit out my coffee. [You're the host, so you cook, or order takeout, or take them out to eat. Fifty-fifty, remember? Your guests, your bill.]

Edward: [It's only making a meal. Do you really have to be like this?]

I didn't reply.

At seven that night, I got home. There were three guys I didn't know sitting in the living room, probably Edward's coworkers.

Takeout containers were spread out on the table, all packed up from a restaurant.

Edward greeted me as I walked in. "You're back? Come sit with us."

I changed my shoes, gave them a nod, and headed straight for the bedroom.

I closed the door behind me.

The living room fell silent for a moment.

Then one of Edward's coworkers tried to break the awkward silence. "Susan is probably busy. Let's eat."

An hour later, they left.

Edward pushed open the bedroom door, his face thunderous with anger. "Susan, you embarrassed me."

"You didn't tell me you were having guests over. Why should I put on a performance for you?" I shot back.

"Performance? My coworkers came over for dinner, and you couldn't make an appearance."

"We're splitting everything down the middle. Your social life, your bill. I'm not your unpaid cook or your decorative hostess."

He took a deep breath and clenched his fists. "You've changed."

"I haven't changed. You're the one who changed first," I replied.

That left him speechless.

He stormed out and crashed on the couch that night.

The next day, Amelia quietly pulled me aside. "Susan, I saw everything last night. Edward was way out of line. Don't let it get to you."

"Amelia, I'm not letting it get to me. I'm playing by his rules," I replied.

"I'll try to talk some sense into him. You two need to stop stirring things up and live your lives."

"Amelia, I'm not the one stirring things up."

Amelia fell silent.

On the eighth day, Emily's husband called, and she put him on speakerphone in the living room. His voice was so loud that the whole house could hear.

"When are you coming back? Your mom keeps blowing up my phone, yelling at me nonstop. What's with you staying at Susan's place with the kid?" he demanded.

Emily held Leo, her voice shrill and harsh. "Why should I come back? To wait on you? You only make 1,500 dollars a month. Who are you supposed to support with that?"

"So you're really okay crashing at Susan's place?"

"This is my brother's house."

"You know how Susan acts, always giving you the cold shoulder."

Emily hung up, her eyes red with tears.

Leo was bawling in her arms.

Amelia rushed over to soothe Leo.

I sat in the bedroom, listening to the commotion outside.

It was none of my problem.

But Emily clearly didn't see it that way.

That night, she cornered me at the bathroom door. "Susan, am I causing you trouble?"

"Just stay. Don't concern yourself with me," I replied.

"Do you not want me here?"

"I told you, just stay."

"What's with that tone?"

I looked at her. "Emily, your fight with your husband is your business. You can stay, but don't leave Leo's toys scattered all over the living room.

"I almost tripped on them yesterday. And stop using my laundry detergent. Buy your own."

"You're really counting every little thing, a bit of laundry detergent?" she shot back.

"We're doing the fifty-fifty thing. That's Edward's rule," I replied.

She was stunned. She turned and went back to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter 3

On the seventh day, he finally lost it. "Seriously, Susan? You're even labeling your yogurt with your name now?"

"We're splitting everything down the middle, remember? I eat what I buy; you guys eat what you buy. That's fair," I replied.

"Can you drop this whole fifty-fifty thing already?"

"You were the one who brought it up."

"I was saying it offhand."

I looked at him and nodded slowly. "Oh. So, are we still doing this fifty-fifty thing or not?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Then what's the problem with me labeling my stuff?" I replied.

He stormed off, fuming.

I stood in the kitchen and heard the bedroom door slam shut.

Chloe called me up, saying the meeting with the client went great, the contract was basically set, and I needed to sign it this Friday.

"The design fee is 400 thousand dollars, and the first payment is thirty percent, so 120 thousand dollars will hit our account first," she said.

"Okay," I replied.

"Is your husband still making a scene?" she asked.

I smiled. "Let him act up. I'll do my own thing."

"You're way too patient. If it were me, I would've kicked him out ages ago."

"I'm not in a hurry."

I hung up, washed my own cup, and headed back to the bedroom.

Edward was already asleep, his back to me, wrapped up tight in the blanket.

I quietly changed into my pajamas and lay down on the other side of the bed.

There was about one foot between us.

On Friday afternoon, I signed the contract at the client's office.

The total design fee was 400 thousand dollars, and Chloe and I split it fifty-fifty.

The first payment was 120 thousand dollars, so my share of 60 thousand was deposited into the studio account.

After signing, I bought myself a coffee and sat at the entrance of the mall, sipping it.

My phone buzzed.

Edward: [I'm having some colleagues over tonight. Cook a few dishes.]

I nearly spit out my coffee. [You're the host, so you cook, or order takeout, or take them out to eat. Fifty-fifty, remember? Your guests, your bill.]

Edward: [It's only making a meal. Do you really have to be like this?]

I didn't reply.

At seven that night, I got home. There were three guys I didn't know sitting in the living room, probably Edward's coworkers.

Takeout containers were spread out on the table, all packed up from a restaurant.

Edward greeted me as I walked in. "You're back? Come sit with us."

I changed my shoes, gave them a nod, and headed straight for the bedroom.

I closed the door behind me.

The living room fell silent for a moment.

Then one of Edward's coworkers tried to break the awkward silence. "Susan is probably busy. Let's eat."

An hour later, they left.

Edward pushed open the bedroom door, his face thunderous with anger. "Susan, you embarrassed me."

"You didn't tell me you were having guests over. Why should I put on a performance for you?" I shot back.

"Performance? My coworkers came over for dinner, and you couldn't make an appearance."

"We're splitting everything down the middle. Your social life, your bill. I'm not your unpaid cook or your decorative hostess."

He took a deep breath and clenched his fists. "You've changed."

"I haven't changed. You're the one who changed first," I replied.

That left him speechless.

He stormed out and crashed on the couch that night.

The next day, Amelia quietly pulled me aside. "Susan, I saw everything last night. Edward was way out of line. Don't let it get to you."

"Amelia, I'm not letting it get to me. I'm playing by his rules," I replied.

"I'll try to talk some sense into him. You two need to stop stirring things up and live your lives."

"Amelia, I'm not the one stirring things up."

Amelia fell silent.

On the eighth day, Emily's husband called, and she put him on speakerphone in the living room. His voice was so loud that the whole house could hear.

"When are you coming back? Your mom keeps blowing up my phone, yelling at me nonstop. What's with you staying at Susan's place with the kid?" he demanded.

Emily held Leo, her voice shrill and harsh. "Why should I come back? To wait on you? You only make 1,500 dollars a month. Who are you supposed to support with that?"

"So you're really okay crashing at Susan's place?"

"This is my brother's house."

"You know how Susan acts, always giving you the cold shoulder."

Emily hung up, her eyes red with tears.

Leo was bawling in her arms.

Amelia rushed over to soothe Leo.

I sat in the bedroom, listening to the commotion outside.

It was none of my problem.

But Emily clearly didn't see it that way.

That night, she cornered me at the bathroom door. "Susan, am I causing you trouble?"

"Just stay. Don't concern yourself with me," I replied.

"Do you not want me here?"

"I told you, just stay."

"What's with that tone?"

I looked at her. "Emily, your fight with your husband is your business. You can stay, but don't leave Leo's toys scattered all over the living room.

"I almost tripped on them yesterday. And stop using my laundry detergent. Buy your own."

"You're really counting every little thing, a bit of laundry detergent?" she shot back.

"We're doing the fifty-fifty thing. That's Edward's rule," I replied.

She was stunned. She turned and went back to her room, slamming the door behind her.