I’m still reeling from what happened last night with my boyfriend, Will. I barely slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see that restaurant table, the candlelight flickering between us, and his hands patting those empty pockets like it was some kind of joke.
For seven months, I’ve been paying for almost everything.
At first, I didn’t mind. Relationships aren’t about keeping score, right? The first time his card “declined,” he looked genuinely embarrassed. The second time he “forgot his wallet,” he kissed my forehead and promised to make it up to me. The third time he’d “just paid a huge bill” and said, “Next one’s on me, babe. I swear.”
But the next one never came.
Dinner dates. Movie tickets. Concert passes. Weekend trips. Even takeout. Somehow, when the check arrived, something always happened. And somehow, I always picked up the tab.
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