That’s The Difference

He’s not willing to let me buy him out and keep the house.

I mean, he didn’t say he doesn’t want me to have it. But that’s how it’s coming across.

He thinks we should fix it up a little and sell it. And I told him what I wanted. I told him I love this house. I want to stay in this house. I asked if he’d at least be willing to see what the lawyers say, see what our options are, see if there’s a way for me to buy him out fairly.

He said no.

I told him what I wanted, and he said no.

I’m not going to screw him over, even though he doesn’t believe me. And I understand why to some sense. I got gross before. I said shitty things. I said the house was mine because I put the money down, and I made it sound like his contributions didn’t matter or didn’t match mine.

That was wrong. Absolutely wrong. I admitted that to him, but it doesn’t change the fact that I said it.

But then he says, “This is why I said I didn’t want to buy a house with you.”

Then why did you?

I asked. Numerous times.

Are you sure?

Are you sure?

Are you sure?

Because I knew what buying this house meant to me. I remember saying we had to be here for twelve years, otherwise all of this was a waste. This wasn’t something temporary to me. I wasn’t buying a place to live for a couple of years. I was buying our home.

And now I’m fucking terrified.

Selfishly, yes, I’m making this about me. But right now, I need to. I need to focus on me and what my life looks like after this.

Because when he leaves, it’s his clothes. His helmet. His TV. His gaming consoles. He can move out of here in his truck.

Everything else stays.

My furniture. My dressers. My everything.

I would be the one packing up an entire house. Paying another two grand to move. Starting over somewhere else when I don’t fucking want to start over somewhere else.

I want this house.

I’ve designed things for this house. I’ve drawn things for this house. I’ve written down everything I want to do to this house. I can see what it’s supposed to become.

I was going to make it home.

I still want to make it home.

And I know part of this process is accepting that I may lose it. I know I need to be willing to let that happen if that’s ultimately what happens.

But being willing to lose it is not the same thing as being willing to give it up without fighting for it.

I don’t want to screw him over. I don’t want to take something from him that he’s entitled to. I want to know what the actual options are. I want to know if there is a fair way for him to walk away with what he’s owed and for me to stay.

And if there isn’t, then I’ll deal with that.

But I don’t want to just fucking sell my home because he doesn’t want me to have it.

That’s the difference.