Then he let out a soft sigh, almost mocking. “When you love someone, you want to give them the best. Unlike some people…” he paused and looked at me. “Even after getting married, you made Naomi live in that dump. I mean, come on, man—how useless can you be?”
His words dug deep, stirring memories of those cramped years Naomi and I had spent in that small, old apartment. The place had a damp smell that clung to everything, especially after it rained. And the floors—those creaky, uneven floors that I’d fixed one by one, hoping to make the place a little less miserable. Every time it rained, water leaked through the cracks in the ceiling, and we’d run around with bowls, trying to catch the drips.
But this place—this place was pristine. It was ours, given by my mom for us to grow into, to build a family in if we chose. And yet Naomi had given it away to him, for years.