At twenty-two, I had never belonged to anyone in a way that felt safe.
So when he said it, I believed him.
The loan was in my name because my credit was better. We both agreed to that. It made sense at the time.
He told me it was temporary. He told me we’d pay it together. He told me it would be our down payment. Our start. Our proof.
We put the money straight into our shared account.
He squeezed my hand while I signed the papers and said, “I’m proud of you, Nova.”
And I felt ten feet tall.
This morning, I walked down his hall toward his living room, my brain packed with paint samples and Zillow listings and the exact kind of couch I wanted.
I was smiling.
Until I heard his voice.
He was on the phone. He didn’t know I was there. He sounded relaxed, almost amused, like he was discussing something harmless.
“Yeah,” he said. “It hit the account yesterday.”
A pause. A soft laugh.
“No, she’s fine. She thinks it’s for the house. She’s all excited, sending me listings and crap.”
My feet stopped moving.
The hallway turned cold.
He kept talking.
“I just need to clear what I owe. Once I do, I’m good. Then we can worry about her little dream.”
Another pause.
Then his tone shifted into something I didn’t recognize at first. Something sharp and mean under the casual.
“And honestly, if she gets suspicious, what is she gonna do? She never pushes back.”
He chuckled.
“Besides, she knows she’s lucky I’m even here. A girl shaped like that doesn’t have options. She should be grateful someone put a ring on it.”
My lungs forgot what they were doing.
For a second, everything went quiet, like my body was bracing for impact.
He was still talking, still laughing, still being him.
But the version of me standing in that hallway was no longer the same girl who signed those papers.
Heat rose up my neck.
Not the good kind.
The humiliating kind. The kind that made my skin feel too tight.
