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.”

A text from Daniel.

*My sister’s name is Ruth.

She says call anytime tonight if you need to.

She means it.*

I looked at the number he had sent.

Then I looked at the acceptance letter one more time.

Ruth Adeyemi answered on the second ring.

She had a calm, direct voice, the kind that made you feel like the situation was already slightly more manageable than it had been thirty seconds ago.

“Daniel told me the outline,” she said.

“But I want to hear it from you.

Take your time.”

I told her everything.

The tuition.

The jobs.

The joint account.

The apartment.

The placement.

The recording.

The text message from the unknown number.

I read her the text word for word.

When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.

“The text message,” she said.

“You still have it?”

“Yes.

Photographed and forwarded to Daniel.”

“Good.

Don’t delete it and don’t respond to it.