Chapter 7 - THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL OF THE ENGINEER
The weeks that followed were a masterclass in the high cost of living.
Scott tried to maintain his "independent" lifestyle,
but his salary was quickly swallowed by the mundane realities of the world.
He realized that the high-speed internet he used for his gaming cost eighty dollars a month.
He realized that the laundry detergent,
the paper towels,
and even the trash bags weren't free.
He started bringing a PB&J sandwich to work every day,
while his coworkers went out for sushi and steak.
His car insurance was due,
and he had to ask for an extension because he had spent too much on "emergency" groceries.
Jenna,
meanwhile,
was thriving.
She took herself out to nice dinners,
bought the expensive wine she liked,
and spent her Saturdays at the spa instead of in a hot kitchen.
She didn't stop him from eating,
but she didn't help him either.
If he ran out of milk,
he had to walk to the store.
If he wanted clean towels,
he had to do the laundry himself.
He watched her move through the apartment like a queen,
and he realized he was just a tenant.
The pride that had fueled his initial demand had vanished,
replaced by a gnawing sense of regret and hunger.
He tried to make small talk,
tried to bridge the gap,
but Jenna was polite and distant,
like a professional colleague.
She had taken his demand for separate lives literally,
and she was excelling at it.
One evening,
he found her in the kitchen labeling a new box of gourmet chocolates.
Jenna,
can we just...
can we talk about the budget again?
he asked,
his voice cracking.
Why?
she asked,
placing a pink sticker on the gold box.
Is your independence not working out for you?
I’m just...
I’m struggling,
he admitted,
looking at his feet.
I didn't realize how much you did.
Jenna smiled,
but it didn't reach her eyes.
I told you,
Scott.
I was happy to do it when I thought we were a team.
But you decided that I was a burden you were "supporting."
May you like
Now you know what the burden actually looks like.
And I’m quite enjoying the lightness of my own life.
