Taking Root

I stared at the primary bedroom door, the solid walnut door I had visited three home-improvement stores to choose.

From inside came the dull thud of Tyler Caldwell throwing his duffel onto the bed.

"Marcus, if your mother gets the primary bedroom, where am I supposed to sleep?"

I tried to keep my voice down, but my jaw was clenched so tightly that my cheekbones ached.

Marcus came out of the kitchen carrying a mug of water for his mother before finally turning to me.

"Jules, the guest room isn't that small. Make do for now.

"Tyler just moved to the city to look for work. Once he's established, he'll move out.

"My mom got a bad back. She can't sleep on the guest-room mattress."

He spoke so casually, as though the house had always been intended as a free hotel for his family.

"This is my house."

"It's our house!"

He corrected me with a faint warning beneath his tone.

"Jules, do you have to make a big deal out of everything?

"Do you have any idea how hard it was for my mom to raise two sons?"

"Your mother raising you was difficult. What does that have to do with me?"

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.

Not because they were wrong, but because Marcus's expression changed.

He said nothing and turned away to help his mother rearrange the kitchen.

She removed my cast-iron Dutch oven from the cabinet and replaced it with the nonstick pan she had brought.

I had saved two months of salary for that imported Dutch oven. It could simmer soup for hours without losing a drop.

Now it sat in a corner of the balcony beside her jars of homemade preserves.

That night, I slept in the guest room.

I lay staring at the ceiling while laughter drifted from the primary bedroom, where his mother and Tyler were talking.

Marcus never knocked on my door.

He didn't say a single word to me.

At two in the morning, I got up to use the bathroom and noticed a document on the coffee table.

It was the Joint Mortgage Contribution Agreement we had signed when we bought the house.

I had barely read it at the time because Marcus said it was only a formality.

Using the light from my phone, I turned to the second page.

A handwritten clause stated: Both parties share responsibility for the mortgage and all property-related debts. If either party withdraws, that party must reimburse the other for all renovation costs and appreciation.

All renovation costs and appreciation.

That meant if I tried to remove Marcus, I would have to pay him to leave.

My hand began trembling around the agreement.

Not from cold. From fear.

Marcus had drafted this agreement.

The day he asked me to sign it, he handed me a pen and smiled. "Jules, once you sign, we're officially a family."

A family.

Apparently, his family meant his mother, his brother, and him.

It didn't include me.