And the moment he heard the word “director,” he raised an eyebrow with a mocking smirk.
“So what?” he said, shrugging off his jacket.
“I don’t care about your job. My mom and sister are moving in tomorrow, and you’ll take care of them. That matters more than any ridiculous title.”
I stared at him in silence.
At first, I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
He explained, casually, that his mother, Carmen, was having financial trouble, and his sister, Paula, had just separated and needed “support.”
That “support,” of course, meant I would cook, clean, rearrange my schedule, and give up traveling for work.
He had already decided.
Without asking me.
I didn’t argue.
That was the part that unsettled him the most.
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