He looked hurt.
“You signed it.”
“Yes.”
“You told them I’d probably come.”
“Yes.”
“You had our house assessed.”
“Yes.”
“And the only part you hadn’t done was ask me.”
He sat down.
“I knew if I asked before I signed, you’d find a hundred reasons it wouldn’t work.”
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then I said, “That’s called having a say in my own life.”
His face fell.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
“I know you. You get anxious when something is uncertain. I thought if I could show you the salary, the housing, the schools, everything laid out, you might actually consider it.”
“Might.”
“Yes.”
“So you weren’t sure I’d agree.”
“No.”
“Which is why you made it harder for me to say no.”
His voice rose.
“I wasn’t going to force you to come.”
I stared at him.
“You signed a two-year contract, told them your wife was probably relocating, and had someone assess our house. At what point exactly was I supposed to feel like saying no was still an option?”
Nathan looked down.
He didn’t answer.
I walked into the living room.
He followed.
“Was this why you were texting Helen?”
“Yes.”
“Why her?”
“Because she’s known you longer than I have.”
“So instead of asking your wife what she thought, you asked her best friend to predict her.”
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“That you’d say no before even thinking about it.”
That was at least honest.
“And if I did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you still go?”
He didn’t answer.
There it was.
The real question he’d avoided.
“This wasn’t just a surprise,” I said.
“No.”
“You wanted to know how I might react because you were deciding what you’d do if I refused.”
He sat on the couch.
“Yes.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Nathan and I had been married eight years.
We’d made difficult decisions together.
My mother’s surgery.
His father’s death.
Job changes.
Buying the house.
We disagreed plenty.
But we’d always fought from inside the same problem.
This time, he’d built the problem without me.
“You know what’s funny?” I said.
He looked up.
“I might’ve said yes.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“I might have gone.”
Nathan stared at me.
“You told me you didn’t want to move overseas.”
“I said I couldn’t imagine it.”
“That’s basically—”
“No. It isn’t.”
I walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out my work tablet.
“There was an internal posting at my company three months ago.”
“For what?”
“Singapore.”
His mouth opened.
“Our Asia-Pacific office was looking for a senior operations lead.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you spent the last three years talking about how much you wanted to stay close to your mother.”
Nathan stared at me.
“I didn’t apply.”
“Why?”
“Because I assumed we made decisions like that together.”
Silence.
I hated how satisfied part of me felt seeing the realization hit him.
“I could’ve transferred,” I said. “Maybe. I don’t know. But if you’d come home and said, ‘I’ve been offered something in Singapore, would you consider it?’ I might have.”
He stood.
“Then maybe we still can.”
“No.”
His face dropped.
“I don’t mean no to Singapore.”
He stopped.
“I mean that isn’t the question anymore.”
I felt my eyes fill.
“You made sure the first thing I had to decide wasn’t whether I wanted to move. It’s whether I can trust my husband.”
Nathan looked away.
That evening, I called Helen.
Not because I wanted comfort.
Because I wanted the rest of the truth.
“Did he ever tell you he’d signed before last night?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you about the house?”
“No.”
“Did you encourage this?”
“No.”
Then she added, “But I should’ve told you sooner.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“What were you thinking?”
She was quiet.
“At first, I thought he genuinely wanted advice. Then it became interviews. Then the offer. Every time I said I was telling you, he said he’d do it that night.”
“And you believed him?”
“More than once.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently he had both of us waiting.”
Helen started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
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I believed her.
