me you applied everywhere.”
“I did.”
Tasha opened her phone again.
“Then why did you turn down the warehouse job Marcus offered you?”
Derek glared at her.
“That was overnight work.”
“Maya works mornings, afternoons, and weekends whenever someone calls out,” Tasha said.
“She gets Eli ready, pays the bills, handles daycare, buys the food, cleans the house, and apologizes every time you lose money.
You turned down a job because you didn’t like the shift.”
For the first time, Derek had nothing to say.
Eli’s crying had stopped.
Through the front window, I saw him sitting on the floor with his cheek pressed against the glass, watching us.
The sight broke through my numbness.
I thought about what I had whispered before Tasha arrived: that perhaps I should hand my child to strangers because I could not survive another day.
I had believed Eli was the weight dragging me underwater.
But a two-year-old had not hidden daycare assistance from me.
A two-year-old had not stolen money from my account, rejected work, or told relatives I was irresponsible.
Eli had broken a windshield because he was impulsive, overwhelmed, and unsupervised for less than a minute.
Derek had watched me break for months and called it weakness.
“Pack a bag,” I told him.
He blinked.
“What?”
“Pack your clothes and leave.”
He laughed again, but the sound was thinner now.
“This is my house too.”
It was a rental, and only my name appeared on the lease.
Derek knew that.
He also knew I had never used it against him.
“You can leave voluntarily,” I said, “or I can call the property manager and ask what I need to do next.”
His face hardened.
“You think you can afford this place without me?”
Tasha answered before I could.
“She already has been.”
Derek pointed toward her.
“Stay out of our relationship.”
“You put me in it when you borrowed money using her name.”
He turned back to me.
“You’re really going to throw away our family over a few transfers?”
That sentence finally released my anger.
“No.
You threw it away every time you watched me blame myself for a crisis you helped create.”
Derek began listing everything that would go wrong if I made him leave.
I would lose childcare.
I would fall behind on rent.
Eli would become more difficult.
Everyone would know I could not keep a family together.
A month earlier, those threats would have worked.
Now the folder lay open between us.
“You were not providing childcare,” I said.
“You were not paying rent.
And you made sure I couldn’t access the help that was available.”
When he realized I would not change my mind, Derek switched tactics.
His shoulders dropped.
His voice softened.
He said he had been depressed.
He said betting gave him hope that one lucky win could solve everything.
He said he had hidden the transfers because he was ashamed.
Some of that may even have been true.
But shame did not explain why he had told Tasha I wasted money.
Depression did not require him to decline daycare assistance without speaking to me.
Hope did not make him laugh when I said I was close to giving up my child.
“You need help,” I told him.
“But I cannot be the
