My Fiance Chose His Ex 18 Times

The sleek black umbrella left a puddle on the entryway hardwood. I didn't bother wiping the floor. I dropped my keys onto the console table, the metal scraping against the wood, and walked straight to the kitchen.

Username. Password. Enter.

The joint savings account loaded in bold black text.

Available Balance: $30,000.00.

I stared at the numbers. Yesterday, that total had been fifty-four thousand dollars.

He gave away twenty-four thousand dollars in a single morning.

Two hours later, the deadbolt clicked.

The front door swung open, hitting the rubber stop with a dull thud.

"Hannah?" Ben called out.

I sat on the edge of our bed in the dark, the laptop resting on my knees. I hadn't moved to turn on a lamp.

He stepped into the room. The scent hit me instantly.

He didn't smell like sewage, damp basement, or copper pipes. He smelled like vanilla and jasmine. Olivia's signature perfume.

"That was an absolute disaster," Ben sighed, peeling off his jacket and tossing it onto the armchair. "The main valve was completely rusted shut. I had to use a wrench and all my body weight just to get it loose. Took me hours."

"Did it?" I asked.

"Yeah. Water was everywhere." He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves. He finally looked at me, his brow furrowing. "Why are you sitting in the dark? And why didn't you text me about the house? Did the agent let you tour it?"

"I didn't go inside."

Ben stopped rolling his sleeve. His hands dropped. "What do you mean you didn't go inside? We waited three weeks to see that property."

"You left me on the porch."

"Because it was an emergency." His voice carried a sharp edge of annoyance. "You could have handled the walk-through on your own. Why do you always have to make things so difficult?"

I turned the laptop screen toward him. The bright white webpage cast a harsh, pale glow over his face.

"Where is the twenty-four thousand dollars, Ben?"

He froze. His eyes darted from the screen to my face. The casual annoyance vanished, replaced by a sudden, rigid stillness. He swallowed hard.

"You checked the account," he said.

"I did."

"Hannah, I was going to tell you tomorrow."

"Tell me what? That you paid Olivia's rent for a year?"

He crossed his arms, shifting his weight to his back foot. "She was going to be evicted. Her landlord demanded the entire lease upfront to keep her current rate. What was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to buy a house with your fiancée."

"It's just a delay." Ben stepped closer, lowering his voice into that calm, reasonable tone he always used when he wanted me to back down. "The market is terrible right now anyway. Interest rates are high. We can wait another year."

"You drained half our savings."

"It's not just about Olivia." He pointed a finger at me, his expression twisting into defensive anger. "It's about Lily. Do you want a six-year-old girl sleeping in a car? Because that's what was going to happen."

"Olivia has a job. She has parents in the suburbs."

"They wouldn't help her! I'm the only one she can rely on."

"You aren't Lily's father."

"I helped raise her!" Ben shouted, his voice echoing off the bedroom walls. "I'm sorry you can't understand that. I'm sorry you're so insanely jealous of a child that you'd rather see them on the street than wait a few months for a house."

The accusation hung in the stale air.

I looked at the man I had loved for six years. The man who wore another woman's perfume while lying to my face about fixing a pipe.

"You're right," I said quietly.

Ben's shoulders dropped. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. "Look, I know it's a lot of money. But I'll pick up extra shifts. We'll build it back up. You're practical, Hannah. You know this was the right thing to do."

I turned the laptop back to face me.

My fingers hovered over the trackpad. I navigated to the transfer menu.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking a step toward the bed.

"Being practical."

I selected the joint savings account. I clicked the destination drop-down and chose my personal, individual checking account.

Transfer amount. I typed the numbers. Three, zero, zero, zero, zero.

"Hannah." Ben's voice lost its confident warmth. "Close the laptop."

I clicked review. The confirmation screen loaded.

"Stop acting crazy," he snapped, reaching for the computer.

I pressed confirm.

A green checkmark appeared on the screen. Transfer successful.

"Did you just move the rest of the money?" Ben stared at the screen, his face flushing red. "You can't do that!"

"I just did." I closed the laptop with a sharp snap and set it on the nightstand. "I contributed exactly thirty-two thousand to that fund over the last six years. I'm taking my thirty. You can consider the two thousand a parting gift."

"A parting gift?" He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Are you throwing a tantrum over this? Put the money back, Hannah. We share that account."

"Not anymore."

I stood up and walked past him to the closet.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, following closely behind me.

I reached up and pulled my gray hard-shell suitcase from the top shelf. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

"You're packing?" Ben scoffed. "Over a delayed down payment? Grow up."

I ignored him. I opened the dresser drawers, grabbing handfuls of sweaters and jeans, tossing them into the open suitcase. I didn't bother folding them.

"Stop ignoring me!"

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was tight, his fingers digging into my skin.

I looked down at his hand, then up into his eyes. "Take your hand off me," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper.

Ben blinked, surprised by the ice in my tone. He released my wrist but stepped directly into my path.

"You are overreacting," he insisted. "You're going to walk out into the rain, sleep on some terrible motel bed, and realize how ridiculous you're being. We are getting married in four months."

"The wedding is off."

I zipped the left side of the suitcase. I moved to the bathroom, sweeping my toothbrush, skincare, and makeup into a travel bag. I threw it on top of my clothes.

"Fine," he spat. "Run away. But I'm not playing this game with you, Hannah. I'm not going to chase you."

I grabbed the two halves of the suitcase and pushed them together.

Before I could grab the metal tabs, Ben slammed his hand down on the zipper track. His knuckles turned white.

He leaned in close. The vanilla and jasmine scent washed over my face, nauseating and sweet.

"You walk out that door tonight," Ben said, his words clipped and hard, "don't expect me to come get you."

I stared at his hand. I didn't argue. I didn't cry.

I reached out and peeled his fingers off the zipper, one by one.

"Deal," I said.