“You were dealing with your mom?—”
“So you decided to handle it yourself?” Now her voice rises. “To build this whole case, give it to Barrett, set up whatever’s happening now—all without telling me?”
“I was trying to protect you from additional stress?—”
“That wasn’t your choice to make!” She’s shaking, tears starting to stream down her face. “Do you have any idea how terrified I’ve been? Watching Winters document everything, knowing he was building something, feeling like my entire career was hanging by a thread?”
“That’s why I did this. So you wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.”
“And it never occurred to you to tell me?” Her voice cracks. “To trust me with information about my own life? My own career?”
“I didn’t want to add to what you were already dealing with?—”
“My mom was dying, Roman. She was dying and I was watching it happen and you thought the right move was to keep secrets? To make decisions about my professional life without even consulting me?”
“I should have told you,” I say. “I know that. But I was watching you fall apart and I just wanted to fix one thing. To make one thing better.”
“By taking away my agency?” She wraps her arms around herself. “By treating me like I needed to be protected instead of informed?”
“I was trying to help.”
“You were trying to control the situation. There’s a difference.” She moves toward the bedroom, toward her bag. “I need space. Real space.”
“Marnie, don’t?—”
“I’m going to my apartment.” She’s pulling clothes out of thedresser with shaking hands. “I need to process my mom dying and Winters trying to destroy me and you lying to me for weeks. And I can’t do that with you here trying to fix everything.”
“I wasn’t lying?—”
“You were keeping things from me. Same thing.” She shoves clothes into her bag. “I know you thought you were helping. I know you were trying to protect me. But you made decisions about my career without telling me. Built a case that’s now part of an HR investigation—an investigation about me—and I had no idea any of it was happening.”
Her bag is packed now. She’s crying openly, grief and fury mixing.
“I love you,” she says, voice thick with tears. “But I’m also really angry. And I need time to figure out which one matters more right now.”
“How long?” The question comes out rougher than I intended.
“I don’t know. A few days. A week.” She picks up her bag. “However long it takes to figure out if I can trust you.”
Then she’s gone.
I stand in my apartment surrounded by evidence of her—coffee mug in the sink, blanket on the couch, her presence in every room—and realize I just destroyed Winters and lost Marnie in the same day.
Brody
Heard what happened. You okay?
Me: Winters is on leave. Marnie left.
Brody
Left-left or needs-space left?
Me: She’s pissed I kept the investigation from her.
Brody
Yeah. That was stupid.
