Chapter 2 · Rainless Light

The camera slipped from Ethan's hand and clattered against the edge of the table.

He stared at me, dumbfounded. "Divorce? Really? Is this about me not buying that pan? Or me booking the Nordica tickets without asking you first? Seriously, Sophie, all over this tiny little thing?"

They were all tiny little things. But when the little things piled up, they were enough to make anyone snap.

I said, "Ethan, I've told you a hundred times. I don't want this life. I don't want our bank account hovering at single digits. I don't want to live off credit cards every month. I don't want to keep hopping from one rented apartment to another. Being with you... it's exhausting."

Ethan looked like I'd just told the world's biggest joke, raising his voice in disbelief. "Exhausting? I work my ass off every day. I want to show you the most beautiful places and capture our life with the best camera. And that's what's exhausting?"

"Yes! That's exactly what's exhausting!" Three years' worth of frustration and resentment erupted all at once. I couldn't stop myself from shouting.

I pulled up my phone, swiped to the top note, and turned the screen toward him. "Ethan, remember this?"

It was a simple note: [Goal: Down payment for a house. Current total: $47218 Progress: 21.2%]

The last update was from three years ago—the afternoon we first set our eyes on that little apartment.

Ethan's eyes flickered.

"You said we'd have a home. All my late-night overtime pay, every coffee or smoothie I skipped, and all my savings went into that. But do you even remember where that money went?"

I pulled up another screenshot of a travel booking. "First month after we got married, you maxed out your credit card to prepay for that 'Arctic photography tour.' When your paycheck was delayed, you couldn't pay it back—you nearly left us without rent. You used that money."

I pulled up one digital receipt after another.

"And this," I said. "That 'extreme skydiving camp' you had to go to last year—you paid for it with our emergency fund. You even dropped another five grand on brand-new gear.

"And then two months ago, when we'd finally managed to save a little, you traded in the car. Took out a loan for a performance car because you wanted a 'better driving experience.'

"Ethan, have you ever actually thought about our future?"

His lips moved, but no words came out. He just lowered his head.

"Every time we went grocery shopping, I compared prices and counted weights. You'd stand there scrolling on your phone, impatient, telling me to just grab whatever—like a few dollars didn't matter.

"I said we should take a class and learn some new skills. Layoffs were everywhere. You said it was a waste of money—then turned around and bought a new lens.

"I pinched pennies for months, and you swiped your credit card on in-game purchases without even blinking."

Maybe all those memories finally lit the fuse. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, clearly fed up. "Sophie, can you stop being so practical all the time? All you care about is groceries, rent, and utility bills. If that's all life is, what's the point? I just want our life to mean something."

Tears streamed down my face before I could stop them. "Mean something? Your version of 'meaning' left us unable to pay this month's water bill."

Ethan's face went pale with anger. "Money! It's always money with you. We can always make more later, but some opportunities—once you miss them—"

I cut him off. I was too tired to keep fighting. "It's been three years. Every time I said I wanted to save for a down payment, you told me renting was better—more freedom. Every time I worried about the future, you said, 'Why overthink it? Just enjoy the moment.'

"Ethan, I want a home. And you can't give me that."

He froze, chest heaving, but no words came to defend himself.

The room was filled only with the sound of our heavy breathing.

I looked at the man I'd loved for three years—the same reckless, charming guy who had once made my heart skip a beat. But now, all I saw was just childish stubbornness, refusing to ever grow up.

I turned my head and saw his packed suitcase in the corner. Suddenly, all the anger and hurt quieted down. I spoke softly to Ethan. "Make a choice. Are you going to run off chasing the aurora, or are you facing the bills at home with me?"

Chapter 2

The camera slipped from Ethan's hand and clattered against the edge of the table.

He stared at me, dumbfounded. "Divorce? Really? Is this about me not buying that pan? Or me booking the Nordica tickets without asking you first? Seriously, Sophie, all over this tiny little thing?"

They were all tiny little things. But when the little things piled up, they were enough to make anyone snap.

"Yes! That's exactly what's exhausting!" Three years' worth of frustration and resentment erupted all at once. I couldn't stop myself from shouting.

I pulled up my phone, swiped to the top note, and turned the screen toward him. "Ethan, remember this?"

It was a simple note: [Goal: Down payment for a house. Current total: $47218 Progress: 21.2%]

The last update was from three years ago—the afternoon we first set our eyes on that little apartment.

Ethan's eyes flickered.

"You said we'd have a home. All my late-night overtime pay, every coffee or smoothie I skipped, and all my savings went into that. But do you even remember where that money went?"

I pulled up one digital receipt after another.

"And this," I said. "That 'extreme skydiving camp' you had to go to last year—you paid for it with our emergency fund. You even dropped another five grand on brand-new gear.

"And then two months ago, when we'd finally managed to save a little, you traded in the car. Took out a loan for a performance car because you wanted a 'better driving experience.'

"Ethan, have you ever actually thought about our future?"

His lips moved, but no words came out. He just lowered his head.

"Every time we went grocery shopping, I compared prices and counted weights. You'd stand there scrolling on your phone, impatient, telling me to just grab whatever—like a few dollars didn't matter.

"I said we should take a class and learn some new skills. Layoffs were everywhere. You said it was a waste of money—then turned around and bought a new lens.

"I pinched pennies for months, and you swiped your credit card on in-game purchases without even blinking."

Tears streamed down my face before I could stop them. "Mean something? Your version of 'meaning' left us unable to pay this month's water bill."

Ethan's face went pale with anger. "Money! It's always money with you. We can always make more later, but some opportunities—once you miss them—"

"Ethan, I want a home. And you can't give me that."

He froze, chest heaving, but no words came to defend himself.

The room was filled only with the sound of our heavy breathing.

I looked at the man I'd loved for three years—the same reckless, charming guy who had once made my heart skip a beat. But now, all I saw was just childish stubbornness, refusing to ever grow up.