But Mandy wasn't having it, insisting I pay for the damage.
"But it was a gift from you..."
Eric, annoyed, gestured dismissively again. "I'll just buy you another one," which finally silenced her.
My heart ached—yeah, just a dress.
A dress that could have bought a condo in Covelle, instead of us cramming into that tiny 320-square-foot rental for years.
No more rushing to find a new place whenever the landlord decided to sell or raise the rent, scattering like lost souls across the city.
Last year, when the rent spiked, he was away, and I scrimped to save a grand a month, moving in a downpour while sick with a fever.
I kept it to myself to spare him the worry, and when he returned, he just wrapped me in his arms, guilt-ridden, murmuring, "Honey, you've worked so hard."
At that moment, I believed our hearts were enough to carry us through.
Together, we'd make it—eventually, there'd be bread on the table.
That stormy night, I ran to a bike-share, soaked to the bone, suddenly realizing I no longer needed to struggle alongside him for a home.
The rain washed over my face, pulling me back to three years ago.
That day, also stormy, was rough at work—boss on my case, colleagues scheming, and I'd lost a major project.
Dazed on the street, I nearly didn't see the car coming.
He yanked me back just in time, and when I turned, there was his handsome face, calming me with his gentle tone. I fell for him right then.
We hit it off, and in no time, we rushed into marriage.
He said it was his first love, and so was I—I thought I'd struck gold, bypassing all the heartache, but I had no clue...
Given his rough upbringing and rural background, my parents were initially against it after scraping to get me through college.
But I stood by him, convinced that with enough elbow grease, we'd bake our bread eventually.
My folks finally caved, handed me the family records, and we skipped a wedding to save cash.
Three years on, I discovered he wasn't cash-strapped; he was just pinching pennies when it came to me.
I went home, packed up his stuff, dumped it outside, and changed the locks.
He didn't show up until six AM, knocking, pleading for forgiveness.
Not wanting to wake the neighbors, I let him in.
He has changed into the same cheap suit he wore when we got our marriage license, still hanging on after three years.
What a stark contrast to the dapper man at the bar.