"I've been noticing things," he says. "The portions at dinner getting smaller. You give Elena more and take less for yourself.” He pauses. "You're running out of money."
"We're fine."
"Don't lie to me." His voice is gentle but firm. "Please. Don't lie."
I close my eyes. I'm so tired. So tired of pretending everything is okay. Of stretching every euro until it screams. Of going to bed hungry so Elena can have enough.
"We're not fine," I admit, my voice cracking. "We haven't been fine for months. Not since my father died."
He pulls out a chair, gestures for me to sit. I do, and he sits across from me, the same way we sat when I told him about Draco.
"Tell me what’s going on," he says.
I tell him about my father's pension disappearing when he died. About the property taxes I haven't paid in six months. About the electricity bill that is overdue, the warning notice that came last week threatening to shut off our power. About the truck that is burning oil and needs repairs I can't afford.
About choosing between buying Elena new shoes and buying rice.
About the fact that feeding three people instead of two is slowly bankrupting me.
I don't say that last part to make him feel guilty. But I see it hit him anyway. See his jaw tighten, his hands curl into fists on the table.
"I'm sorry," he says roughly. "God, Isabella, I'm so sorry. I didn't, I should have realized,"
"It's not your fault."
"It is. I've been eating your food, using your resources, and you're barely surviving." He stands abruptly, pacing to the window. "I’m a terrible person. I need to leave."
"No." The word comes out sharp. "You can't."
"I can't stay here and watch you starve."
"And I can't let you walk out there when someone might be looking for you. When you have no money, no identification, nowhere to go."
"Then what?" He turns to face me, and there is anguish in his expression. "What am I supposed to do? Stay here and slowly drain what little you have left? Watch you give up meals so I can eat? Watch Elena go without because I'm too much of a coward to face whatever is out there?"
"You're not a coward."
"Then what am I?" His voice rises. "I don't even know. I don't know who I am, where I came from, if I have money somewhere, if I have people who could help. I'm useless to you like this."
"You're not useless. You've been fixing everything,"
"I've been playing handyman while you've been deciding which bills you can't afford to pay." He drags his hands through his hair, frustration radiating off him. "I need to remember, Isabella. I need to figure out who I am so I can help you. Really help you."
"Your memories are coming back. You said,"
"Fragments. Pieces. Nothing useful." He comes back to the table, leaning on it with both hands. "I remember violence. But I don't remember my name. I don't remember where I lived or what I did or if I have any resources that could help you. And meanwhile, you're sacrificing everything to keep me safe."
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are." His voice softens. "You're choosing me over your own security. Over Elena's security. And I can't," He stops, his voice breaking. "I can't let you do that anymore."
Tears are burning in my eyes. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I need to take risks. Go into town, maybe. See if anyone recognizes me. Try to trigger more memories, even if it is dangerous." He meets my eyes. "I need to remember who I am, even if it means exposing myself."
"They could find you. Whoever is looking. They could kill you."
"Maybe. But at least then you'd have one less mouth to feed."
