For 6 years, I worked 2 jobs to pay for his medical degree, then he divorced me — until the judge opened my envelope and read what inside….

I tried. God, I really tried. I bought cheap makeup from the drugstore and watched YouTube tutorials at three in the morning, trying to learn how to look elegant.

I saved tips for two months to buy one nice dress. I borrowed library books about current events so I could have intelligent conversations when Brandon occasionally let me attend his functions. But I was still working three jobs.

I was still exhausted. And no amount of cheap makeup could hide the bone-deep tiredness in my eyes.

The worst part? Brandon stopped noticing my sacrifices. He stopped saying thank you when I handed him money. He stopped helping around the apartment.

His studies were too important, he said. He started sleeping in the spare room because my alarm for my 5:00 AM shifts disturbed him. The man who used to massage my tired feet now barely looked at them.

Brandon’s graduation day arrived on a sunny Saturday in May. I sat in the auditorium with hundreds of other people, watching as medical students walked across the stage in their caps and gowns to receive their diplomas.