“I’m being honest with you,” Trevor replied. “We want different things now. I’m going places, Relle—big places—and I need someone who can go there with me. Someone who already understands that world. Someone like Vanessa Hunt.”
Trevor had the decency to look uncomfortable for a moment.
“Vanessa and I have a lot in common,” he said. “We understand each other’s ambitions. We’re at the same level professionally.”
“You’re not at the same level,” I corrected him. “She comes from money. Her family is already connected. You got where you are because I worked seventy-hour weeks to pay your way.”
“And I appreciate that. I really do,” he said quickly. “That’s why I’m not going to make this difficult. We can split everything fairly. You can keep the apartment if you want, though the lease is up in two months. I’ll take the car since it’s in my name. We can split the checking account.”
I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
The sound came out harsh and bitter.
“The checking account?” I said. “The one with two thousand dollars in it? How generous of you.”
“I don’t understand why you’re being like this,” Trevor said. “I’m trying to be fair.”
“Fair,” I repeated softly.
I stood up, my legs shaky.
“Let me tell you what fair would look like, Trevor,” I said. “Fair would be acknowledging that I paid for every single year of your medical school. Fair would be recognizing that I destroyed my credit, gave up my own career advancement, and worked myself into exhaustion so you could study. Fair would be you saying thank you instead of telling me I’m not good enough for your new life.”
“I did thank you,” he insisted. “I said I was grateful.”
“Grateful,” I echoed.
I grabbed my purse from the side table.
Inside was a folder I’d started putting together over the past few months—copies of some of the financial records I’d been keeping.
Not everything.
Just enough.
“You know what, Trevor?” I said. “Go ahead and file for divorce. I’m sure Vanessa will be thrilled. I’m sure you two will be very happy together in her expensive condo, going to fancy dinners, drinking overpriced wine.”
“Where are you going?” he demanded. “This is still my apartment for two more months.”
“I’m going to a friend’s house.”
I walked out before he could respond.
I made it to my car, got inside, and sat there in the parking lot, gripping the steering wheel.
I didn’t cry.
I was too shocked for tears, too numb.
I’d given this man six years of my life.
I’d sacrificed my health, my savings, my future.
I’d believed in his promises, in our partnership, in the idea that we were building something together.
And he’d just told me I wasn’t good enough to share in what we’d built.
I drove to my friend Angela’s house.
Angela was another nurse from County General, someone who’d watched me struggle through Trevor’s medical school years.
She opened her door, took one look at my face, and pulled me inside.
“He wants a divorce,” I told her.
“Oh, honey,” Angela said.
She guided me to her couch.
“I’m so sorry. What happened?”
I told her everything.
The graduation.
Vanessa.
Trevor’s speech about my “simplicity” and how I embarrassed him.
Angela listened, her expression growing darker with every sentence.
“That absolute piece of garbage,” she said when I finished. “After everything you did for him, after you paid for his entire education, he said he was grateful? Grateful?”
Angela spit the word like it tasted bad.
“You know what you need?” she said. “You need a lawyer. You need someone who can make sure he pays you back for what you invested in his career.”
“How?” I asked. “We weren’t married when he was in undergrad, only during med school. And I used my own money to pay for everything. It’s not like I can prove it was a loan.”
“Can’t you?” Angela asked.
She disappeared into her home office and came back with her laptop.
“You’re the most organized person I know,” she said. “You keep records of everything. You’ve probably got receipts for every dollar you spent on his education.”
I thought about the files at home, the folders full of bank statements and credit card bills and tuition payment confirmations.
“I have records,” I admitted. “Yes.”
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