He stopped when he reached the kitchen. His eyes went immediately to the laptop on the counter. The screen was dark, but he stared at it like he knew exactly what was hidden in the browser history.
He looked at me.
"You've been researching," he said.
It wasn't an accusation, but it felt like one.
"I needed to know the blast radius," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "I needed to understand exactly how screwed I am."
He set the manila folder on the counter, right next to the laptop.
"You're not," he said.
"Ben, don't start with the optimism?—"
"You're not screwed, Olivia." He said it like a fact, not a comfort. "That's why I'm here."
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of how cold and exposed I was. "What did you do?"
He tapped the folder with a calloused finger. "I bought Lucia out."
The words hung in the air, foreign and impossible.
"I bought her half of the LLC," he continued, his voice steady. "We shook on it tonight. My lawyer's drawing up the paperwork tomorrow, but it's done. She's out."
My brain stalled. "You... what?"
"I bought her share," he said. "I'm paying her back what she put in when the house sells."
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"I'm taking on her half of the debt," he continued. "The construction loan. If the project fails, the bank can come after me instead of her. She's out. It's just you and me now."
"You can't," I stammered. "Ben, that's insane. That's a three-hundred-thousand-dollar loan on a house that doesn’t even have a roof."
"Three hundred and twelve thousand," he corrected. "Plus another hundred and fifty to complete it. Give or take."
"That's half a million dollars!"
"I know."
"You don't have that kind of money."
"I have equity in my business. My house. I can refinance, take out credit lines. I'll come up with it." He shrugged, a casual movement that terrified me.
"Refinance?" I felt something hot and sharp rising in my chest—panic mixed with fury. "Ben, if this fails—if we don't finish it in six months—you lose everything. Your business. Your house. Everything you’ve built."
He held my gaze. "So do you."
The kitchen went dead silent.
I stared at him, searching his face for a crack. I looked for the joke, the mistake, the sign that he was delirious with grief. But he was calm. Resolved. He looked like a man who had already jumped off the cliff and was just waiting to hit the water.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why would you do this?"
He didn't answer immediately. He looked down at the folder, his jaw working.
"Because I told him to end it," he said finally. The words were low, scraping the bottom of his register. "I pushed him to go out there. And he listened." He looked up, his eyes dark with a guilt that looked decades old. "I can't undo that, Liv. I can't bring him back."
