“Next week. Monday.”
So everything had already been decided.
Without me.
He had spoken to his mother, arranged everything… and I was only being informed.
As if I were the household help.
“Besides, you can work from home,” he added. “You have flexible hours.”
“Alejandro, I’m not self-employed.”
He frowned.
“Well… you know. A man can’t take care of an older woman. That’s not a man’s job.”
Not a man’s job.
But living off my salary while he had spent three years “finding himself” in graphic design… that was fine.
Paying the mortgage, the daycare, the bills, the groceries…
apparently that was a woman’s job.
And giving up my career for his mother?
Of course.
“And what if I don’t agree?” I asked quietly.
He looked at me as if I had said something completely ridiculous.
“Gabriela, don’t be silly. My mother gave me life, raised me, sacrificed everything for me. I can’t abandon her now. And you… you’re not a stranger.”
I’m not a stranger.
