“I wasn’t always,” I said finally.
She waited.
I sighed, drumming my thumb once against thesteering wheel. “A couple years ago, my relationship ended. We were together for almost four years.”
Her brows lifted slightly, nodding, possibly remembering my ex-girlfriend, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I thought she was it,” I continued. “The endgame. We talked about marriage. Kids. All of it.”
I hadn’t talked about this in a long time. The words felt rusty, like they hadn’t been used enough.
And I hated that I was saying them toher. Embarrassed, really.
Roxie, with her trust fund and her parents’ marble countertops and her complicated relationship with money. Roxie, who I’d once assumed would never understand this particular kind of fear.
And maybe that was on me, for underestimating her. For assuming wealth meant insulation.
But she was listening, really listening, and that made it harder to stop.
“She knew swimming was my priority,” I said. “Knew it before we even got serious in our junior year of college. But somewhere along the way, it became a silly pastime of mine that she couldn’t understand.”
I paused at another traffic light, jaw tightening.
“She wanted more. A big apartment. Nicer things. Vacations that didn’t involve finding the cheapest flights or splitting meals to save money.” I let out a humorless breath. “She started talking about how swimming wasn’t a real career. That it was something I should’ve grown out of after college.”
Roxie’s mouth parted slightly. “She said that?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Told me I was chasing something that was never going to pay off. That she didn’t want to spend her life worrying about money.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“She left,” I added. “Packed up her stuff while I was at practice. Left a note saying she needed stability.”
Roxie’s expression softened, her eyes warm with something that looked dangerously close to pity.
“I grew up poor,” I said, the words tumbling out more easily now. “Like, really poor. My parents each worked two jobs. I learned early how to stretch a dollar, how to run from debt, how to pretend everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.”
I shrugged. “Swimming was my way out. Scholarships, stipends, prize money—it was the first thing I was ever good enough at that eventually paid me back.”
“And when she left,” Roxie said softly, “it felt like she was confirming every fear you already had.”
I glanced at her, surprised.
She held my gaze, understanding clear in her eyes. “That without money, you weren’t enough,” she finished.
I struggled to swallow. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Exactly.”
The light turned green, and I drove on, blinking hard.
“That’s why I got good at the whole significant other thing,” I said after a moment. “At paying attention. Being present. I thought if I could anticipate what sheneeded—if I could be better, more supportive, more … enough—she wouldn’t leave.”
Roxie reached over, her hand settling gently on my forearm.
“You were always enough,” she said. “She just couldn’t see past her own priorities.”
No one had ever said that to me so plainly.
Not my parents, who loved me but had always been too busy surviving to offer reassurance. Not my coaches, who measured worth in seconds shaved off times. And definitely not my ex.
