He Gave Our Home to Her, So I Left with My Money

The phrase Duane Delgado said best was, Just hang in there a little longer.

He said we'd buy a wedding home once the project payments came in, so I lived with him in a rented apartment for four years.

He said we'd register the marriage once his sister graduated, so I waited another year.

In the sixth year, at the Delgados' housewarming party, Leona Delgado produced a set of keys to the new place, tied with a red string.

That apartment was one Duane and I had picked only after touring more than a dozen developments, and the down payment included three hundred thousand dollars I'd scraped together by selling my late mother's keepsakes.

I thought all the swallowed grievances had finally reached their end.

Instead, Leona pressed the keys into Willow Simmons's palm, beaming.

"Willow just got back from overseas. She has nowhere to stay, so let her move in first and liven the place up."

The table went silent in an instant, and my heart sank, inch by inch.

Someone tried awkwardly to smooth it over. "Then where will Cornelia Sullivan and Duane live?"

Duane set a piece of fish in my bowl with his chopsticks, the way you'd coax a child who doesn't know any better.

"It isn't safe for a girl like Willow to be on her own, so she'll just borrow it for a few days. Whose name is on the deed doesn't matter. What matters is that we love each other."

Willow swung the keys and winked at me.

"You won't mind, will you, sis? I promise I won't sleep in your master bedroom."

I put down my chopsticks.

"Mind what? It's just an apartment."

Duane visibly relaxed. Just then the phone in my bag buzzed.

Miss Sullivan, the evidence of your joint pre-marriage funding has been compiled. Evidence preservation can be processed at nine tomorrow morning.

I looked at that set of keys clenched in Willow's hand and replied with a single word.

Do it.

On the drive back, Duane was behind the wheel, and his mood seemed good.

He even hummed a couple of bars of a song.

I sat in the passenger seat, head down, looking at that message from the notary office.

Until Duane reached over and gave the back of my hand a squeeze.

"Still upset?"

I pulled my hand back and tucked it into my coat pocket.

"No."

He let out a laugh.

"Cornelia, you're just too stubborn to admit it."

"My mom was a little abrupt today, but you know Willow's situation. Her parents are overseas year-round, and she's a girl who just got back. She can't live in a hotel forever, can she?"

I watched the streetlights streaking backward outside the window.

"So she lives in our wedding home?"

Duane frowned.

"What 'our wedding home'? Those are just temporary viewing keys from the developer. It hasn't even been officially handed over."

"Besides, she's only going to take a look. It's not like she's moving in to stay."

I turned my head to look at him.

"Those keysyour mother gave them to her in front of everyone."

The car went quiet for a beat.

Duane seemed irritated by what I'd said and reached up to tug at his collar.

"Cornelia, can you stop nitpicking every word?"

"With all those relatives there today, you really wanted to make my mom lose face?"

"Willow grew up with us, and her family helped my dad back in the day. You can't even tolerate this small favor?"

He was always like this.

The moment I voiced a single grievance, he immediately slapped the label of "doesn't know any better" on me.

I lowered my head and smiled a little.

"I can tolerate it."

"Good, then."

Duane visibly relaxed.

"Don't worry. Once Willow finds a place, I'll have her move out."

"And our wedding won't be held up either."

The wedding.

Those two words came out of his mouth as light as a scrap of wastepaper.

Five years ago, he'd held my hand in that cramped rental in the rundown neighborhood, the paint molding off the walls, the windows leaking drafts.

He'd held me and said, "Cornelia, just two more hard years. Once I buy a place, your name goes on it first."

Later, his company took off.

He got Leona a sprawling penthouse, bought his sister Phoebe a car, and lined up a job for Willow Simmons.

Only me. I was still waiting.

Waiting for him to have time, waiting for it to be convenient, waiting for his family to be satisfied.

The car stopped at the foot of our rental building.

This apartment, we'd lived in for four years.

Eight hundred square feet, two bedrooms and a living room.

I'd picked out the chandelier in the living room, hung the curtains myself, bought every single bowl in the kitchen one piece at a time.

Duane unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over to kiss me.

I turned my head away.

His lips met nothing.

"Cornelia."

His voice dropped low.

"That's enough out of you."

I pushed the door open and got out.

"I've got something to do early tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

Duane came after me and caught my arm.

"Something like what?"

"Some paperwork."

"What paperwork?"

I looked him in the eyes and said it calmly. "It has nothing to do with you."

His face soured at once.

"Do you really have to talk to me like this now?"

I didn't answer.

Because my phone buzzed again.

The notary had sent over a list of supplementary documents.

Please bring transfer records, the property purchase agreement, screenshots of the promises made in your chats, and any evidence related to the other party revoking the joint-funding addendum.

I replied with a single Got it.

Duane stared at my screen, his brow knitting tighter.

"Who is that?"

I clicked the phone dark.

"Spam."

He didn't know.

A month ago, I'd found that revoked addendum.

The deal was that I'd put up the $300,000 down payment, and my name would be added to the deed later.

But in the developer's registration, the only buyer listed was Duane.

When I asked him, he said the sales agent had made a mistake.

I believed half of it.

The other half was enough to make me get all my evidence in order.

Tonight's housewarming was the last chance I was giving him.

And he handed the keys to someone else with his own hands.

At seven the next morning, a phone call jolted Duane awake.

He took the phone out to the balcony.

Even through the glass door, I could still hear Willow's tearful voice.

"Duane, I barely slept last night."

"That set of keys your mom gave me, every time I think about it being your and Cornelia's marital home, I feel like an outsider."

Duane's tone softened instantly.

"Don't read too much into it. Nobody thinks of you as an outsider."

She must have said something else on the other end.

Duane glanced back at me.

I was sitting at the dining table, sliding the transfer receipts one stack at a time into a document folder.

He lowered his voice. "She won't mind. That's just how she is. She'll come around in a couple of days."

My hands paused for a beat.

Then I went on sealing the folder.

Fifteen minutes later, Duane had changed his clothes.

"Willow wants to go take measurements at the new place today, and look at the furnishings while she's there."

"I'll go with her for a bit."

I looked up.

"Weren't we supposed to go to the county clerk's office today to book our registration?"

Duane's hand stilled on his cufflink.

It was as if he'd only just remembered.

After a few seconds, he said it as if it were nothing.

"It's only an appointment, it's not like we're getting the license today. Willow just got back from overseas. There's a lot she doesn't understand, and she can't handle it on her own without me."

I looked at him.

"Duane, I was the one who contacted the contractor. The floor plan, I stayed up nights revising it."

"The budget for the whole place, I figured out line by line."

"And now you're taking her to measure it?"

Duane finally lost his patience.

"Cornelia, are you ever going to stop?"

"She was just looking. Why are you so jealous over every little thing?"

"If it bothers you that much, come along."

As he finished, his eyes landed on the document folder by my hand, and he reached for it.

"What's this?"

I pressed it down before he could.

"My things."

"Since when can't I look at your things?"

He grabbed for it.

I stood up, taking myself and the folder a step back.

His hand froze in midair, and the air between us turned cold.

Duane Delgado stared at me, something unfamiliar in his eyes, like he was sizing me up.

"Cornelia Sullivan, you've been acting strange lately."

I gave a faint smile.

"Have I?"

"You never used to be like this."

"I never used to think I'd actually get married, either."

The words dropped, and Duane's expression changed completely.

He stared at me for a long moment, then suddenly laughed.

"Fine. Threatening me again."

"Is this about the keys last night?"

"I already told you, that place is going to be ours eventually. What's the point of clinging to it like this?"

He came over, his tone softening a little.

"Cornelia, stop this."

"I'll come back tonight and have dinner with you. We can lock in the date for the license while we're at it."

I looked at him.

"Don't bother coming back tonight."

He froze.

I picked up the folder and grabbed my bag.

"I have plans."

The notary office opened at nine.

By the time I got there, a clerk was just rolling up the gate.

My face reflected back at me in the glass door.

No tears. No red eyes.

Just calm. So calm it felt unfamiliar, even to me.

The notary finished checking my paperwork and looked up.

"Miss Sullivan, are you certain you want to file a withdrawal-of-funds declaration?"

"Once this declaration is notarized, we'll help confirm that the signing process is valid and authentic. As for freezing the property transfer afterward, your lawyer will still need to send a formal letter to the developer."

I nodded.

"I'm certain."

She reminded me again:

"You've put in a three-hundred-thousand-dollar down payment, plus another eighty-six thousand prepaid toward furnishings."

"If the other party refuses to return it, you may have to take this to court."

I signed my name.

"Then I'll sue."

As the pen tip glided across the paper, I suddenly thought of my mother's gold bracelet.

Before she passed, she held my hand and said:

"Cornelia, a woman has to have her own money. Love someone, fine, but never hand over your whole life."

I didn't understand it then. I do now.

When I walked out of the notary office, there were more than a dozen missed calls on my phone.

Duane's calls. I didn't return them.

Right after that, Willow Simmons sent a photo.

In it, she stood in the living room of the new place.

The wall where I'd planned to build a bookshelf had been mocked up with software into one big pink display cabinet.

The caption read: Cornelia, do you think I made the place too girly? Duane said as long as I like it, that's all that matters.

Below it was a voice message.

I tapped play. Willow's voice came through soft and sweet.

"Cornelia, don't get the wrong idea."

"I'm just trying the place out early for you two. After all, I know Duane's daily habits better than you do."

When it finished, I saved the photo and forwarded everything to my lawyer.

Does this count as her disposing of jointly funded property rights without authorization?

The lawyer replied fast.

It can be used as evidence.

I'd just put my phone away when Duane called again.

This time I answered. His voice was pressed tight over the anger.

"Cornelia Sullivan, where did you go?"

"Handling some paperwork."

"What paperwork? Did you go to the notary office?"

I said nothing.

Duane's breathing grew heavier.

Are you out of your mind?

My mom just got a call from the developer. They said you filed a withdrawal declaration.

Cornelia, we spent six months on that place. We finally locked in the price, and now you're pulling out?

I'm not making a scene.

Then what are you doing?

I stood at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the red light count down, second by second.

I'm getting my money back.

The line went quiet for two seconds.

Then Duane laughed.

The kind of laugh that comes from pure exasperation.

It's only three hundred grand. Is this really necessary?

When you sold your bracelets to scrape that money together, I told you to stop. You were the one who insisted.

And now you're throwing it in my face? What's the point?

My fingers tightened, slowly.

You're right. There's no point.

Something in my tone must have registered, because his voice softened.

Cornelia, that's not what I meant.

I just think, we're about to get married. Splitting everything down to the last dollar hurts what we have.

Withdraw the declaration, and tonight I'll take you to that private kitchen place you love.

Then we can talk it through properly.

Talk it through. Again. He always said we'd talk.

And every time, it ended with me being the one who gave in.

I watched the light turn green across the street and stepped forward with the crowd.

No need, Duane. There's nothing left for us to talk through.

The line went dead silent.

It was a long moment before he spoke again.

Cornelia, what's that supposed to mean?

I saidExactly what it sounds like.

After I hung up, I went straight to the rental apartment.

The movers were already waiting downstairs.

I'd booked them a week ago.

That was when I'd noticed my name wasn't on the property registration, and I'd already braced for the worst.

If Duane had taken those keys back in front of everyone last night, if he'd given me even one honest word, maybe I would have canceled the booking.

But he hadn't.

The mover saw me standing there alone and asked

Lot of stuff?

Not much.

The things that were actually mine really weren't much.

A few boxes of books, two bags of clothes, a laptop, one set of art supplies.

Everything else was the life I'd pieced together, little by little, over the years.

I left the kitchen cups. I left the throw pillows in the living room. I even left the floor lamp I'd hunted down across three different stores.

Not because I couldn't bear to part with them. I just couldn't be bothered to want them anymore.

When the mover was nearly done, he dragged a cardboard box out from under the bed.

This one too?

I looked down at it.

It was full of Duane and me, all those years packed inside.

Movie ticket stubs, vacation photos, matching slippers, and that notebook crammed with our wedding plans.

I crouched down and opened the notebook.

On the first page, in my handwritingWedding budget, under twenty thousand.

On the second page, in Duane'sAll that matters is the bride being happy.

I looked at that line, and I smiled.

Then I dropped the whole notebook into the trash bag.

Leave it.

At five in the afternoon, I set the keys on the entryway cabinet.

I snapped a photo and sent it to Duane.

Keys are here. I've moved out.

He didn't reply.

Three minutes later, he called.

I hung up.

He called again. I hung up again.

After the seventeenth call, he sent a message.

Cornelia, you'll regret this.

I looked at the words and sent one last replyThe one who'll regret it is you.

At eight that night, Duane finally came back to the apartment.

By then I was already in the car heading to the train station.

On the phone, Violet Pruitt asked me

You're really not going to tell him where you're going?

Not telling him.

"And the apartment? The money? With his family's character, you think they'll ever pay you back?"

"My lawyer will handle it."

Violet went quiet for a few seconds, then swore under her breath.

"This is long overdue."

"Cornelia, these past few years you've lived like an unpaid maid."

"His mom's back hurts, you go sit with her at the doctor's. His sister's prepping for grad school, you fix up her portfolio. His company's just getting off the ground, you come home after work and do his books."

"And what did it get you? The keys to your own wedding home went to his one true love. Your appointment to register the marriage got bumped so she could go first."

"Does Duane actually think he's some hot commodity?"

I leaned against the train window, listening to her rant, and felt something in my chest loosen just a little.

Back at the apartment, Duane's messages kept popping up, one after another.

Where are you?

Why is the closet empty?

Cornelia, are you serious right now?

Did you go to Violet's?

I'm warning you, don't try to scare me with this breakup nonsense.

I didn't reply.

Ten minutes later, he sent a photo.

In it were the keys, sitting on the entryway cabinet.

Next to them lay the couple's ring I'd taken off.

That ring was silver.

Five years ago, Duane bought it for me with the bonus from his first project.

He was broke back then. He even got the size wrong.

It sat loose on my finger, but I was happy about it for a long time.

Later, once he had money, he said he'd make it up to me with a diamond.

Five years of making it up. He never did.

My phone buzzed again. A voice message this time.

I tapped it open.

Duane's voice was a little hoarse.

"Cornelia, where the hell are you?"

"I admit my mom handled last night badly, and Willow doesn't know any better."

"But you can't just move out over this."

"Five years together, and you toss it the second you decide to?"

I stared out at the blurred night beyond the glass and didn't answer.

Soon enough, Willow updated her social feed.

She'd posted a photo of the new apartment, that red-corded set of keys laid out on the coffee table.

The caption readSome places aren't mine to keep, and that's okay. At least tonight someone's here to watch the city lights with me.

In the corner of the photo, half of Duane's shirt cuff peeked into frame.

Violet saw it too. She was so furious her voice cracked.

"He's got the nerve to call you? He's looking for you and touring apartments with Willow at the same time?"

I studied the photo for a few seconds.

Then I closed the app and messaged my lawyer.

Please send the demand letter to Duane and the developer tonight.

My lawyer repliedYou want to send it now?

I wrote backYes.

The station announcement came over the speakers.

"The train is about to depart. All remaining passengers, please board now."

I pulled my suitcase along, following the crowd toward the ticket gate.

My phone suddenly buzzed like crazy.

It was Duane calling.

I hung up.

He sent a voice message. In the background, Willow was crying, low and stifled.

Duane's voice had gone completely frantic.

"Cornelia, you'd better explain this to me."

"Why is the developer telling me you confirmed the withdrawal of the down payment?"

"Why does the demand letter say there's no engagement between us?"

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

I stood in front of the gate and typed, head down.

Duane.

I'm not trying to do anything.

I just don't want you anymore.

The second the message went through, I pulled out my SIM card and dropped it in the trash bin beside me.

Behind me, someone shouted, sharp and urgent.

"Cornelia!"

I turned around.

Duane stood outside the station entrance, clutching the silver ring I'd left behind, his eyes red enough to scare you.