He laughed lightly and said, “You were useful when he needed someone to take care of him, but now you are just unnecessary weight in a life that is about to become much more refined.”
“I am your wife,” I said, my voice breaking despite my effort to stay composed, and I told him that I cared for his father out of love, not obligation.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a check, and tossed it toward me, watching as it fluttered to the floor near my feet.
“Ten thousand dollars,” he said without emotion, “consider it payment for your services, and please leave before my attorney arrives because I would like to start fresh without unnecessary complications.”
I tried to speak, to remind him of promises and memories, but he had already called security, and they escorted me out into the rain while he watched from above with cold detachment.
That night I slept in my car in the parking lot of a twenty four hour supermarket, waking repeatedly to the sound of passing carts and fluorescent lights humming overhead. As dawn approached, I realized with painful clarity that the man I had loved for ten years had never truly existed in the way I believed.