Chapter 3

Life after the divorce was harder than I could have ever imagined.

Mom's treatment couldn't stop, and the hospital kept sending payment reminders.

The fifty million dollars Matthew gave me. I didn't use it.

The money went straight into my account, but I set up an automatic return.

That money was just too heavy a burden, so heavy that I couldn't repay the humiliation even if I spent my whole life trying.

I sold everything I could sell, the limited edition bags Matthew gave me, the jewelry from the wedding, even that wedding dress worth a hundred thousand dollars.

I scraped together over a million dollars, paid for three months of Mom's treatment, and what was left barely covered rent for a single room and basic living expenses.

Then I started working like crazy, days at a flower shop as a clerk, nights as a server at an upscale restaurant.

Sleeping less than four hours a day, I lost a lot of weight and often saw black spots from low blood sugar.

The hardest part was the dignity.

I used to be the glamorous Mrs. George, but now I was just a server trying to survive.

The people who used to flatter me now looked at me with pity and schadenfreude.

A month later, on a rainy night, I had just come out the back door of the restaurant when I got caught in a downpour.

I didn't have an umbrella, so I could only huddle under a narrow awning, soaked through, teeth chattering from the cold.

My phone screen lit up with a message from the flower shop owner: [Mary, the shop's closing next month, sorry about that. I've transferred your last two weeks' pay to your bank account.]

My last stable income was gone too.

I hugged myself tight, my thin work jacket doing nothing against the cold.

I suddenly remembered this day a year ago, my wedding to Matthew.

It had rained that day, too. I was in the dressing room, so nervous my hands and feet were ice cold, when Matthew pushed the door open and handed me a cup of hot chocolate.

"Nervous?" he asked, his tone unusually gentle.

I nodded, my fingers gripping my dress so tight the knuckles turned white.

He chuckled softly, reached out and ruffled my hair, and said, "Don't worry, I'm here."

I was so stupid back then, actually believing those words.

Through the rain, a black Bentley slowly drove past.

The window was half down, and I saw Matthew's profile, and Sarah smiling beside him.

Sarah wore a new Chanel suit, her makeup perfect, chatting with him.

And Matthew was smiling too.

The headlights swept over me, huddled under the awning, briefly illuminating my pale face and soaked uniform.

Matthew seemed to turn and glance, or maybe he didn't.

The car didn't slow down at all, rolling through a puddle and splashing dirty water all over me.

I stood there, muddy water dripping from my hair.

I wiped my face, unable to tell if it was rain or tears.

My phone buzzed again. A message from Mom's doctor.

Doctor: [Miss Mary, your mother's condition isn't very stable. We recommend arranging the next phase of treatment as soon as possible. As for the cost...]

I stared at those words, my vision gradually blurring.