I worked two jobs to help fulfill my husband’s dream of becoming a doctor — at his graduation, he handed me divorce papers, but just as I was walking away, one of his classmates said, “Before you leave, there’s something you should know.”

He made a financial contribution to the hospital foundation.

A significant one.

Timed with the placement approval.”

I sat down in Nathan’s desk chair.

“That’s not just a favor,” I said.

“No,” Daniel said.

“If it can be documented, it could be a serious problem for Nathan’s license.

Before he even starts.”

I looked around the study.

The lecture notes.

The framed copy of Nathan’s acceptance letter to medical school, the one I had framed myself and given to him as a gift.

The small plant on the windowsill that I watered every Thursday.

“Tell your sister I’ll call her at nine tomorrow morning,” I said.

“I’ll let her know.”

I hung up.

I looked at the prepaid phone again.

Then I looked at the acceptance letter on the wall.

I had been so proud of him.

The front door opened.

Nathan’s key in the lock.