asked him to spend the weekend at her house.
She said she was doing renovations and needed help.
Felix went Friday evening.
He returned Sunday.
The moment he walked through the door, I knew something had changed.
He stood in the living room and said:
“My mom finally helped me understand that I’ve wasted eight years with someone who contributes nothing.”
Then he told me he was leaving.
And he started listing what he planned to take.
The television.
The sofa.
The dining room set.
The expensive appliances.
The sound system.
The bedroom furniture.
Everything he said he had purchased.
“I have the receipts,” he told me. “Those things are mine.”
“All right.”
He stared.
Apparently, he had prepared for crying.
Or screaming.
Or pleading.
Instead, I gave him two words.
“All right.”
“That’s it?”
“You can take the things you paid for.”
“I’m taking everything.”
“You’re taking what you paid for.”
