I was twenty-eight when I first met Daniel. Like me, he came from a small village in the English countryside. After finishing secondary school, my friend Alice and I moved to Manchester, where we rented a small room together. Some time later, I managed to get a mortgage and bought a modest two-bedroom flat on the outskirts of the city. Everything seemed to be falling into place.
My brother had just bought himself a new car and gave me his old one. It was a godsend, since my flat was quite far from where I worked. I also used the car to visit my parents, who still lived back in the village.
When I met Daniel, he only had a share in his mother’s house. He was divorced and paying child support for his son from his first marriage.
Back in the village, our paths barely crossed, but a few months after moving to Manchester, we decided to live together. Daniel soon found a good job, but he needed my car to get to work since his office was all the way across town. I couldnt really object, even if it meant I had to rely on buses and trains myself.
Although Daniel earned a decent wage, he never offered to share any money with me. He always had an excusehis mother needed medicine, his son suddenly needed something, or something had broken at his parents house. There was always something. The only thing he ever bought was the weekly shop.
I handled all the bills, paid the mortgage, and covered the daily expenses. Daniel moving in didnt make my life easier financially. In fact, the only real change was that I no longer had my car.
One day, Daniel told me I needed to give him money for car repairs. He quickly added that the car was mine, after all, and that he wasnt my husband. That same month, he agreed to chip in for the gas billbut only that. Since Id spent my last savings on new kitchen furniture, I asked Daniel if he would consider taking out a joint loan with me.
Daniel flat-out refusedhe said it was my flat and he wouldnt invest in something that wasnt his.
He was right, we werent married and it wasnt his property. The more time we spent living together, the less I wanted to imagine a future as his wife. We finally broke up after he asked me for money to give his parents for some home repairs. It happened while we were on our way to visit my family in the village.
During lunch, my mum asked when wed be getting married. I looked her straight in the eye and said, Never. Daniel stared at me in disbelief. I immediately asked him to hand back my keys to both the car and the flat. I told him to come collect his things the next day at noon, and I was clear: we werent married, the flat was mine, and he couldnt come and go as he pleased. Daniel left my parents house in a taxi.
