i paid for his medical degree for 6 years, then he divorced me—until the judge opened my envelope.

“She’s supporting me,” he said at last.

“Supporting you the way your wife supported you through medical school,” Patricia asked, “or supporting you the way your current girlfriend supports you now?”

“Objection,” Richard called. “Badgering.”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Move on, Ms. Aong Quo.”

Patricia smiled slightly.

“No further questions for now,” she said.

Trevor returned to his seat, looking less confident than when he’d started.

Vanessa was frowning in the back row.

Judge Morrison checked his watch.

“We’ll break for lunch,” he said. “Court will reconvene at two.”

As people filed out, I saw Trevor and Vanessa in the hallway, their heads close together, whispering.

Richard was on his phone, probably already adjusting their strategy.

Patricia squeezed my shoulder.

“That went well,” she said. “His testimony helped us more than it helped him. After lunch, you’ll testify. Are you ready?”

I thought about the six years of receipts, the documented sacrifices, the promises Trevor had made and broken.

I thought about that promissory note I’d almost forgotten—the one that was now the foundation of our entire case.

“I’m ready,” I said.

And I meant it.

After lunch, I took the witness stand.

My hands were shaking slightly as I placed them on the Bible for swearing in.

I’d testified in court before for medical cases where I’d been the treating nurse, but this was different.

This time, my entire financial future hung on what I said in the next hour.

Patricia started with easy questions.

We established the timeline.

We established the relationship.

We established the facts.

I’d practiced this, but actually saying it out loud in front of Trevor and Vanessa and a judge made it feel more real and more raw.

“Mrs. Bennett, how did you and Trevor meet?” Patricia asked.

“He came into the emergency room where I worked,” I said. “His roommate had injured his hand. We started talking and he asked me out.”

“And when did you get married?” she asked.

“Two years later,” I said, “right before Trevor started medical school.”

“Did you discuss finances before marriage?” Patricia asked. “Did you talk about how you’d handle the cost of his education?”

“Yes,” I said. “Trevor told me his student loans from undergrad were maxed out. He said he’d need to work or find other funding. I offered to help.”

“Why did you offer?” Patricia asked.

I looked directly at Trevor.

He was staring at the table, not meeting my eyes.

“Because I loved him,” I said. “Because I believed in his dream. Because he promised we were partners building a future together.”

Patricia nodded.

“During the four years of medical school, what was your financial arrangement?” she asked.

“I paid for everything,” I said. “Tuition, books, fees, rent, utilities, groceries, his car insurance, his phone bill. Trevor didn’t work at all during those four years. He said he couldn’t because the coursework was too demanding.”

“Did you ask him to work?” Patricia asked.

“Not really,” I said. “He seemed so stressed. I thought I was helping.”

“How many hours per week were you working during this time?” she asked.

“It varied,” I said. “Some weeks fifty hours, some weeks seventy. I took every extra shift I could get. I worked holidays and weekends. I was basically living at the hospital.”

“How did this affect your health?” Patricia asked.

I paused.

This was a detail Patricia had insisted we include—to show the full cost of what I’d sacrificed.

“I lost weight because I was skipping meals,” I said. “I developed chronic back pain from long shifts and not enough rest. I had anxiety attacks about money. I stopped seeing friends because I was either working or sleeping. My whole life became about making sure Trevor could focus on school.”

“And you did this because…?” Patricia prompted.

“Because he promised it was temporary,” I said. “Because he said once he was a doctor he’d take care of everything. Because I thought we were investing in our future together.”

Patricia introduced the financial documents then, page after page of evidence—bank statements showing deposits from my paychecks and withdrawals for tuition payments, credit card statements showing thousands of dollars in medical school expenses, receipts for textbooks, for exam fees, for professional conference registrations.

“Mrs. Bennett, according to your records, how much money did you spend on Trevor’s education and living expenses during medical school?” Patricia asked.

“Three hundred forty-eight thousand dollars,” I said.

A murmur went through the courtroom.

Even Judge Morrison’s eyebrows rose.

“And how much of that has been repaid?” Patricia asked.

“None,” I said. “He filed for divorce without paying back a single dollar.”