Then something miraculous happened.
Daniel got better.
The treatments finally worked.
His strength returned.
The doctors called it a remarkable recovery.
I thought our nightmare was over.
I thought we would finally rebuild our lives together.
Instead, he left.
Just three months after receiving a clean bill of health, he sat across from me at our kitchen table and calmly told me he wanted a divorce.
I remember staring at him, unable to process the words.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
He couldn’t even meet my eyes.
“I need a fresh start.”
A fresh start.
As if the six years I spent keeping him alive were some unpleasant chapter he wanted to erase.
A week later, I learned the truth.
There was another woman.
Younger.
Beautiful.
Exciting.
Everything I apparently wasn’t anymore.
The divorce was finalized quickly.
The debts remained mine.
Nearly all of them had been taken out in my name to pay for his treatments.
While he moved into a luxury apartment with his new girlfriend, I was left drowning in bills.
I worked double shifts at a nursing home.
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