Ninety Days Of Marriage And A Demand Letter Slid Across A Counter I Had Paid For Myself

She put the letter on the quartz beside my coffee and told me to pay fourteen hundred by the first or pack. My husband of ninety days stood ten feet away with his eyes on his sneakers and said maybe we should talk about it. I looked at the solid wood cabinets, the white oak, the appliances, sixty one thousand seven hundred dollars of my own savings spread across twelve weeks of managing contractors while working full time. Rowan said the building belonged to the Baxter family and not to me. So I picked up my purse, said fine, and reached for my keys, and told them I would go back to my apartment. That was when Callum’s head came up and the colour left his face.

He had known since the meeting at his parents’ house the night before, the one I was not invited to. The building sat inside a family trust and had never been his to give. They had watched the value climb all summer and decided the renovated unit was too good to hand over for nothing. When I told him the condo I bought at twenty seven was empty, cleaned, furnished, and paid off, he followed me down the stairs in his socks and offered to negotiate Rowan down to seven hundred. He still thought the number was the problem.

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Aria Lexicon is the pen name of the writer and editor behind The Daily Signal, a site for original short fiction about families, grudges, awkward neighbors and the small decisions that turn into big ones. Every story is invented; every character is made up. When She isn't writing, She's reading other people's stories and trying to figure out why the good ones work.

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