Page 15

CHAPTER 15

THE PRICE OF LOVE

MARGAUX

LATER IN THE MONTH

S ince living in the US, I’ve been part of a community of expats from New Zealand who get together throughout the year for a variety of social events. It’s a fun group, and it’s always fun to reminisce about the home country and hear some other Kiwi accents.

So when an event is announced in Timmy’s home state of Montana, where his parents still live, I suggest we make the trip and kill two birds with one stone.

Timmy is thrilled. “I can’t wait for you to meet my parents,” he gushes. “They’re going to love you in person as much as they do over the phone.”

I use my air points to get us both tickets, and find a bougie cat hotel where Sabre will be taken care of while we’re away.

Timmy doesn’t say thank you, just expects me to fork out for everything like usual.

“You’re going to get to meet my sister-in-law, Emma,” he says. “You two are going to get along really, really well. She wrote a romance book, too!”

I smile, excited.

The days leading up to the trip to Montana are filled with a mix of anticipation and dread.

I’m clinging to the hope that this visit will provide a sense of stability and connection, something that’s been sorely lacking in my life with Timmy.

His erratic moods and increasingly cruel behavior have left me feeling untethered, but maybe being around his family will ground him—or at least give me some insight into why he is the way he is.

A few days before we fly out, I message my friend, Becky, who is organizing the events in Montana, and let her know how excited I am to be seeing her.

She doesn’t respond, which is strange for her.

A couple of days go by, and I still don’t hear from her.

I reach out to Natasja, who is a mutual friend, to see if Becky is okay.

She checks in with her on my behalf.

Natasja shares that Becky will be getting back to me soon.

When Becky’s message finally arrives, it hits like a sucker punch.

Becky:

Margaux, you’ve put me in a really difficult position.

Your partner is not welcome at the event.

I have a responsibility to keep my community, and my family, safe.

You’re welcome to come by yourself, but he cannot attend.

The words replay in my head, each one a sharp jab. She’s not just banning Timmy—she’s making a judgment about me by association.

Guilt and outrage and shame simultaneously gnaw at me.

Her words cut like an admonishment, and they make me feel small.

I’ve told her things in confidence about Timmy’s behavior. And now she’s using them against me and saying my partner can’t attend the function. The tickets are booked, his parents are expecting us, but the events were frankly the main reason I was going.

Hell, I was considering taking one of his parents along instead of him. I hadn’t firmly locked down my plus one, and she just assumed.

No conversation, just a cold DM from someone who I considered such a close friend that she’s almost family.

This is the same Becky who called me when I was in a vulnerable, isolated moment during Covid lockdown, who asked for me to be appointed to the board for one of her fitness groups—Becky has a lot of hobbies—and who once told me I was one of the strongest people she knew.

And now, just like that, I’m an outsider.

If she’s really that worried about my relationship with Timmy, why hasn’t she tried to check in on me, to call me or send an email, or even just a DM asking how I am?

This is just off .

I wouldn’t bring Timmy if I thought he would act out. That’s partially why I had his parents mentally on standby. I’m confident they would behave and enjoy meeting some of my friends, so if Timmy was having a bad day when the event took place I’d just leave him at home.

But now I feel shunned, ostracized, like yet another piece of my dwindling grounding foundation has been ripped away from me through no fault of my own.

The fault of loving Timmy, I suppose.

And yet another seed of resentment grows toward him. My relationship has officially become a further liability, a scarlet letter in my social circles.

Being able to attend these events is just another thing I can’t have in my life if I continue to be with him.

I tell Timmy, expecting an explosion, but he surprises me with a smirk, and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry babe,” he says, his voice gentle. “She sounds like a bitch. She’s jealous of you. Fuck her. We’ll just go spend even more time with my parents, and it’s your former friend’s loss, honestly.”

His dismissal feels both reassuring and hollow.

I block Becky on social media, trying to push away the hurt, but the wound remains raw.

“You’re better off without her,” he adds, his voice softening. “People like that don’t really care about you. I’m the only one who does.” His words settle into me like a splinter—sharp, and too small to remove. I cling to them like they’re a lifeline.

He’s right. We can spend more time with his parents, and I can get to know them better.

Becky showed her true colors, and this is all for the best.

I block her on social media, because I can’t bear to see pictures of the event showing up on my feed and reminding me I’m not allowed to go. And because I’m deeply hurt by the way she chose to act in this delicate situation.

I tell myself it’s her loss, not mine. That someone who truly cared wouldn’t have blindsided me with a cold and detached message like that.

But deep down, even though I’m extracting a toxic element that doesn’t serve me, I know I’m cutting off another tether to the life I had before Timmy.

I’d thought this trip might be a chance for him to show me—and the world—the better side of himself. Instead, it’s just another thing he’s tainted, another reminder of how small my world has become since he entered it.

I don’t feel supported—I feel cut adrift, like Becky’s message wasn’t just about Timmy, but about me. About who I’ve become since I met him.

And as much as I try to tell myself that blocking her is a show of strength, it feels more like surrender.