Chapter 2

The next morning, the silence in our apartment was deafening. Sarah had slept in the spare room.

I called Mr. Thompson, the man my father, unknown to Sarah, had asked to keep an eye on me years ago.

He was more than just an old family friend; he was a senior executive at Anderson Global.

"The townhouse is in her name, but I have all the records of payment," I told him, pacing the small living room.

"We can initiate proceedings to establish a resulting trust, Ethan," Mr. Thompson said, his voice calm and reassuring. "It will be a fight, but your contributions are clear."

A fight. Over a house that was supposed to be our future.

I hung up and looked around the apartment, filled with seven years of shared life.

Photos on the mantelpiece, books we' d read, the worn spot on the sofa where we used to sit.

It felt like a betrayal, not just of money, but of trust, of everything I thought we had.

The weight of the decision settled on me, heavy and cold.

Sarah emerged from the spare room, her eyes red-rimmed but defiant.

The air crackled with unspoken words.

She watched me, her arms crossed, as I made coffee.

The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable.

Finally, she spoke, her voice tight. "So, you're really going through with this? Canceling everything? Over a house?"

"It's not just about the house, Sarah," I said, turning to face her. "It's about respect. It's about you casually offering up my life savings."

"My parents see David as a son," she said, her voice rising. "Michael is my brother's child! They need support! And you call it petty?"

She was trying to make me the villain, to gaslight me into believing my concerns were trivial.

"What you and your parents proposed was not support, Sarah. It was theft," I stated, my voice firm.

"Theft?" she scoffed. "It' s for family!"

"And what about us? What about our family?" I asked.

She had no answer.

"I can't marry you, Sarah," I said, the words tasting like ash. "I can't build a life with someone who has so little regard for me, for what's mine."

Her face crumpled. "You can't do this, Ethan! After seven years? The wedding is planned!"

"The wedding is canceled," I repeated, the finality of it echoing in the small room.

She stared at me, shock and disbelief warring in her eyes.

Then came the anger. "You'll regret this, Ethan. You're throwing away everything."

Everything was already gone.