Chapter 1 - Which Room Is Mine?
“Marcus, you need to start paying half my rent.”
The words came out harder than I intended.
Marcus stopped halfway through putting his car keys into his jacket pocket.
Then he looked at me.
“Half?”
“Yes.”
I pushed the rent notice across the kitchen counter.
“Your children live here.”
For a second, he said nothing.
Our nine-year-old daughter, Ava, was upstairs doing homework.
Jordan, our six-year-old son, was in his room building a spaceship out of plastic blocks.
I had deliberately waited until they were occupied.
Marcus and I had been separated for almost three years.
We had become good at smiling during school concerts, exchanging backpacks in parking lots, and pretending our arrangement worked perfectly.
Money was where the pretending stopped.
Marcus picked up the paper.
“Twenty-four hundred dollars.”
“Yes.”
“You want twelve hundred from me every month?”
“That’s what half means.”
He slowly nodded.
“Cool.”
I almost relaxed.
Then he looked toward the hallway.
“So which room is mine?”
I blinked.
“What?”
“My room.”
“You don’t have a room.”
“Oh.”
He placed the rent notice back down.
“Then we have a math problem.”
I stared at him.
“Marcus, don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“You are.”
“I’m asking a reasonable question.”
“You don’t live here.”
“Exactly.”
He tapped the paper.
“You just told me this apartment is partly my financial responsibility because my kids live here.”
“They do.”
“Okay.”
“So?”
“So if I’m paying half, do I get a key?”
“No.”
“A parking spot?”
“No.”
“Mailbox?”
“Marcus.”
“Closet?”
“Stop.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“What about bathroom privileges?”
I slapped my palm on the counter.
“This is not funny.”
His smile disappeared.
“I know.”
That quiet answer changed the entire argument.
I crossed my arms.
“The kids need a home.”
“I agree.”
“And this is their home.”
“I agree.”
“Then help pay for it.”
“I help pay for them every month.”
“You buy things.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I buy things?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Nia. Explain it.”
I sighed.
“You pay their health insurance. You pay for Jordan’s soccer. Ava’s dance classes. Clothes sometimes.”
“After-school care.”
“Fine.”
“School lunches.”
“Marcus—”
“Summer camp deposit.”
I felt myself getting angrier.
“They still need somewhere to sleep.”
“And I have somewhere for them to sleep.”
“That they use eight nights a month.”
“Because that is the schedule you insisted on.”
I froze.
“That isn’t fair.”
“It’s true.”
“You work long hours.”
“So do you.”
“You travel.”
“Twice last year.”
I looked away.
Marcus leaned against the counter.
“Nia, if this is about you being short this month, tell me.”
My face burned.
“I am not asking for charity.”
“I didn’t call it charity.”
“I’m asking you to take responsibility for your children.”
His jaw tightened.
“I take responsibility for them every day.”
“You get weekends.”
“I get parenting.”
“You get movies and bowling and pizza.”
Marcus stared at me.
“You really think that’s all I do?”
I didn’t answer.
He laughed once, without humor.
“Who paid Jordan’s emergency room bill in March?”
“You did.”
“Who took Ava to the orthodontist three times?”
“You.”
“Who stays home with them during your Saturday shifts?”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re their father!”
“Exactly.”
His voice rose for the first time.
“I don’t ask for applause, Nia. But don’t stand here and act like I’m some guy who shows up twice a month with ice cream.”
My throat tightened.
That wasn’t what I meant.
At least, I didn’t think it was.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“When did you start struggling?”
“I’m not struggling.”
He glanced at the rent notice.
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
I hated him for seeing through me.
My hours at the medical billing office had been cut six weeks earlier.
I had told nobody.
Not my mother.
Not my sister.
Definitely not Marcus.
My savings were almost gone.
Rent was due in four days.
I was eight hundred dollars short.
And my credit card was so close to the limit that I had stopped opening the app.
Marcus studied my face.
“How short are you?”
“That is none of your business.”
He gave me a tired look.
“And this is the problem.”
“What problem?”
“You want my bank account to become family information while yours remains private.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing.”
I picked up the rent notice.
“I’m asking for stability.”
“So am I.”
“For who?”
“The kids.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You have a three-bedroom house, Marcus.”
“And a mortgage.”
“You make more money than me.”
“Yes.”
“And you know that.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you fighting me over this?”
“Because twelve hundred dollars isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
He looked toward the staircase.
“Responsibility.”
I almost screamed.
“That is literally what I’m talking about!”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You’re talking about me paying more while nothing else changes.”
“What is supposed to change?”
“Everything.”
That frightened me.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus reached inside his jacket.
He pulled out an envelope and placed it on the counter.
I stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“Twelve hundred dollars.”
My anger vanished.
“You brought money?”
“I had a feeling this conversation was coming.”
I looked at him.
“How?”
“Ava asked me last weekend if I could help you because she heard you talking to your landlord.”
My stomach dropped.
“She heard that?”
“She’s nine, Nia. She hears everything.”
I closed my eyes.
Marcus pushed the envelope toward me.
“Take it.”
I didn’t move.
“This month.”
His voice softened.
“Pay your rent.”
Relief rushed through me so hard that I almost cried.
Then Marcus pulled out another folded packet.
He placed it beside the money.
“What is that?”
“A parenting proposal.”
Every bit of relief disappeared.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing is filed.”
“Marcus.”
“It’s a draft.”
“A draft of what?”
“A real fifty-fifty schedule.”
Cold spread through my chest.
“You want to take my children?”
His face changed instantly.
“No.”
“That is exactly what this is.”
“They are my children too.”
“They live here.”
“They live with both of us.”
“Eight nights a month is not living with you.”
Marcus nodded.
“Exactly.”
I stared at him.
He continued carefully.
“You keep saying housing is half my responsibility because they live here most of the time.”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe the fair answer isn’t me paying half your rent.”
His finger touched the proposed schedule.
“Maybe the fair answer is them living with me half the time.”
My mouth went dry.
Before I could answer, a small voice came from the staircase.
“Are we moving?”
I turned.
Ava stood halfway down.
Her face was pale.
“No, baby.”
“Then why are you talking about rent?”
I walked toward her.
“It’s adult stuff.”
Her eyes moved toward Marcus.
“Dad?”
He climbed the first few steps.
“Hey.”
“Are we losing our apartment?”
“No one said that.”
“I don’t want to change schools.”
“You’re not changing schools,” I said quickly.
Ava looked at me.
“How do you know?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Marcus crouched.
“Listen to me.”
She looked at him.
“Your mom and I are going to work this out.”
“Promise?”
His eyes flicked toward me.
Then back to her.
“I promise we’re going to do everything we can.”
Ava hugged him.
I stood there feeling like someone had removed the floor beneath me.
After she went back upstairs, Marcus returned to the kitchen.
He pushed the money toward me again.
“Take it.”
I did.
My fingers trembled.
Then he pushed the custody proposal beside it.
I did not touch that.
“I’m not signing this.”
“I didn’t ask you to tonight.”
“You already planned this.”
“I’ve been trying to talk to you about a better schedule for months.”
“You never said fifty-fifty.”
“Because every time I mention more time, you hear ‘take the kids away.’”
“That is what this feels like.”
Marcus exhaled slowly.
“Nia, I don’t want to replace you.”
I looked at the papers.
“Then why now?”
“Because the system we made when we broke up doesn’t work anymore.”
“It works for the kids.”
“Does it?”
I stared at him.
He looked toward the ceiling.
“Ava is worried about your rent.”
My chest tightened.
“Jordan cries Sunday nights because he says two days at my house feels too short.”
I looked away.
“And you’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re surviving.”
His voice softened.
“There’s a difference.”
I hated that sentence because some part of me knew it was true.
Marcus picked up his keys.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to talk.”
“I have nothing else to say.”
He opened the door.
Then he looked back.
“This stopped being about twelve hundred dollars the second Ava heard us arguing.”
He nodded toward the papers.
“So keep the money.”
His eyes met mine.
“But tomorrow, Nia, we’re finally going to talk about what fifty-fifty responsibility actually means.”
May you like
And after he left, I stood alone in my kitchen staring at the proposal that could either save my family—
Or split it right down the middle.
