Sold His Dreams, Then Walked Out on Him

To help my husband, Ryan Whitaker, compete for the director position, I spend an entire month securing the sale of a luxury apartment worth tens of millions of dollars.

On the day the contract is signed, Ryan hands the primary contract to Lucinda Brooks, a new employee who has just joined the company.

When I demand an explanation, his eyes flicker with guilt.

Still, he argues, "Lucinda studied abroad. She is more academically accomplished than you, and her Iridian is better. The client happens to have a foreign business partner, so it'll be smoother if she takes the lead on the signing."

As he speaks, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, expecting me to compromise like I always do.

But this time, I don't smile but continue to pull a long face.

That very afternoon, I submit my resignation letter and hand over every core client under my management.

Ryan is furious as he tears up the resignation letter and mocks me. "When I married you, I didn't even care that you only graduated from high school. Why are you picking a fight with a newcomer now?"

I laugh.

It's true that I don't have an impressive educational background, but he's forgotten one most crucial thing.

I didn't earn my title as the company's sales champion through academic credentials.

When Ryan Whitaker tore my resignation letter into pieces, I didn't immediately rush to pacify him like I used to. Instead, I felt completely spent.

Over the years, he had used my education against me more times than I could count.

Ryan and I were childhood sweethearts, raised in the same small town, but I was practically raised by the neighborhood.

When we were kids, he would always sneak food out to me.

Whether it was his mom's fresh pastries or the candy his dad brought back from the city, he would always split it right down the middle with me.

We officially started dating during his freshman year of college, and that was the happiest time of my life.

Then, his dad suddenly fell ill.

The medical bills quickly snowballed into hundreds of thousands of dollars, completely crushing a family that never had much to begin with.

I still remember that winter night.

He was crouched in the hospital corridor, his eyes red-rimmed and his voice raw as he said to me, "Hannah, I'm dropping out. I have to find a job right now. I can't lose my dad!"

I was so angry that I didn't speak to him for days.

Later, I secretly handled my own withdrawal from school and started working around the clock to scrape together the money for his dad's treatment.

I didn't tell him because I knew he would never agree to it.

My advisor spent hours trying to talk me out of it, reminding me of how hard I had worked to earn my spot in college.

I told her it was fine and that I wasn't cut out for college anyway.

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