The Day Our Divorce Was Finalized, My Former Husband Handed Me A $10,000 Card
Let me tell you a story from my life. On the day of our divorce, my husband handed me a bank card with $10,000 on it. Outraged, I kept it hidden for 7 years. The day I finally went to the bank to close the account, an employee looked at me and whispered something that made me tremble with panic.
I was huddled in a corner of the bank branch, clutching my knockoff handbag, its fake leather peeling in several spots. The line of people waiting at the teller windows was endless. In my palm, I clutched what I had considered the greatest humiliation of my life for seven years—an old red debit card. The paint on its edges, worn and chipped, had lain dormant at the bottom of an old shoe box in my closet for over 2500 days, mixed in with a pile of yellowed utility bills and some faded photos from my college days.
If my landlord hadn’t made a scene that very morning, threatening to throw all my belongings onto the street, if the debt I’d taken on from a lender for my mother’s treatment wasn’t coming due, I probably would have never taken it out of there. I sighed, looking at the ticket number in my hand and then at the electronic board, mentally calculating the weight. On this card were $10,000.
That’s what Daniel had said the day we went to the courthouse, a sum that seven years ago was a fortune to me and which now was my only lifeline to keep from drowning in this cruel current of life.
The memory of that day returned as vividly as if it were yesterday. It was pouring rain, a curtain of water that seemed to want to wash everything away, but couldn’t cleanse the bitterness from my heart. We had just left the courthouse, the divorce decree still fresh with ink in my hand. Daniel stood there in a black trench coat that fell below his knees, holding a half-sm smoked cigarette. His face was an icy mask, devoid of any emotion. He looked at me, and I will never forget that look. It was a mixture of contempt, cruelty, and something akin to pity for an abandoned animal.
He pulled this card from the inner pocket of his coat. He didn’t hand it to me. He tossed it toward me. The card landed in a puddle of dirty water at my feet. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the sheet of rain, and said in a frigid voice,
“The pin is your birthday. There’s $10,000 on it. Take it and start your life over. Consider it payment for your youth so you never show your face to me again.”
I stood paralyzed in the rain, the water mixing with the salty tears streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to pick up that card and throw it in his face, to howl at him that I didn’t need a traitor’s money. But my feet felt like lead, my pride crushed by poverty, hunger, and the dead end of my reality.
In that moment, I bent down and picked up the mud stained card. Not out of greed, but because I wanted to keep it as proof of his cruelty, as fuel to build a better life than his. Daniel saw me stoop for the money and a mocking smile formed on his lips. He turned and walked toward the luxury sedan waiting for him where a young beautiful woman was sitting. His back disappeared into the misty rain, leaving me alone at a crossroads in my life, a cold bank card in my hand.
For seven years, in my most desperate moments, when I had to eat instant ramen for a month straight, or when life knocked me down, I would take out the card, look at it, and put it back. I was afraid that if I spent a single scent, I would have lost. I would become the beggar of his compassion, just as he wanted. But today, I had truly lost. Pride doesn’t pay the bills. Dignity doesn’t buy medicine for my mother. With bitterness, I admitted my crushing defeat. I needed that money to settle my debts. And then I would take a night bus back to my small hometown in Ohio to get away forever from this glittering, deceitful New York City.
The voice from the loudspeaker calling my number brought me back to reality. It was my turn. I took a deep breath, smoothed my messy hair, and walked to window number five, telling myself that as soon as I withdrew the money, everything with Daniel would be over for good.
Behind the bulletproof glass was a very young employee with flawless makeup, bright red lips, and curled eyelashes. She glanced indifferently, almost disdainfully, at my disheveled appearance, my worn out shirt, and the dark circles under my eyes. It was to be expected. In this place that smelled of money, appearance is the first business card people use to gauge the respect you deserve.
Trying to suppress my humiliation, I slid the old card and my driver’s license through the slot in the glass. The employee picked up the card with two fingers, as if she were afraid of catching something from the grimy, worn plastic, and asked in a mechanical, emotionless voice,
“What can I do for you today?”
I swallowed hard. My voice was a whisper, but I tried to make it sound firm. I want to close the account and withdraw all the cash. The girl’s brow furrowed slightly. She probably thought there wouldn’t be enough money on such a shabby card to be worth the trouble of withdrawing it all. Lazily, she swiped the card through the reader, her long fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard.
Suddenly, the tapping stopped. The space around us seemed to freeze. I saw the girl adjust her glasses and lean closer to the computer screen, her eyes wide as saucers. Her expression shifted from initial disdain to astonishment and then to absolute panic. She looked at me, then back at the screen, and her hands began to tremble violently. She stammered, her voice changing completely, becoming terrifyingly respectful.
“Ma’am, Mrs. Laura, please wait just one moment. The system requires a verification.”
With that, without giving me time to react, she jumped up and disappeared through a door behind the counter, leaving me sitting there in utter confusion. My heart was pounding. Was the card blocked? Had Daniel reported it lost long ago? or worse, was the money connected to some illegal case I knew nothing about? A series of terrible scenarios flooded my mind, making me want to get up and run, but my legs were shaking so much I couldn’t move them.
Less than 2 minutes later, a middle-aged man in a suit, his forehead beaded with sweat, came rushing out with the employee. He looked at me as if he were seeing a savior. He hurriedly opened the counter door, came out, and gave me a deep, respectful nod.
“Mrs. Laura, good morning. I’m the manager of this branch. Please follow me to the VIP lounge so we can assist you as you deserve.”
Stunned, I let them lead me to a luxurious room with a soft velvet carpet, the air conditioning circulating, a cool breeze scented with a pleasant lemongrass essential oil. They invited me to sit on a leather sofa, and served me a cup of hot tea. This 180° change in treatment frightened me even more. I set the cup on the table and with trembling hands asked,
“Sir, what’s going on? I just want to withdraw the $10,000 from the card. If there’s a problem, I won’t take it.”
The manager looked at me. Then at the statement he was holding. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. His voice trembled with emotion.
“Mrs. Laura, perhaps you misremember or aren’t aware of the information. This is a special fiduciary investment account opened seven years ago with an automatic reinvestment and compound interest clause.”
I listened to these technical terms, my mind spinning, understanding nothing. I asked him gently,
“I don’t understand what you’re saying. In short, how much money is on the card?”
The manager took a deep breath, placed the statement in front of me, and with his index finger pointed to the very long row of numbers at the bottom. He said solemnly.
“Ma’am, the total balance in the account, including the initial principle, accumulated interest, and matured investments, is over $2 million.”
Boom. An explosion went off in my head, making all the sounds around me blur. 2 million. Had I heard him wrong, or had he misread it? Daniel said there was $10,000. That colossal figure danced before my eyes, mocking my poverty in the years of misery I had endured. I stared at the paper, counting the zeros over and over, feeling as if I were trapped in the most surreal dream.
Why 2 million? Why had Daniel lied to me? Why did he give me a fortune and then cast me out like a beggar?
I walked out of the bank’s automatic doors, feeling like I was walking on clouds, my feet not touching the ground. In my hand, I no longer held a worn out old plastic card, but a powerful, cold, and heavy black card. I took refuge in the shade of a sycamore tree on the sidewalk, and with trembling hands, pulled out my old cell phone with its cracked screen.
My first thought wasn’t about paying my debts or buying a bus ticket back home. It was to call Daniel. I had to demand an explanation. Why had he deceived me? Did he do something illegal seven years ago and use this method to transfer his assets to me? The idea sent a shiver down my spine. If it was dirty money, I would rather starve to death than accept it and live the rest of my days in fear.
My fingers slid across the keypad, dialing the sequence of numbers I had deleted from my contacts 7 years ago, but had never been able to erase from my memory. Each number that appeared made my heartbeat faster. I pressed the call button, brought the phone to my ear, and held my breath.
“The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again.”
The operator’s monotonous voice was like a bucket of cold water. I couldn’t believe it. I hung up and called again. Once, twice, five times, always the same frigid response. I let my arm drop, a feeling of helplessness invading every cell in my body.
Of course, 7 years had passed. He was a successful businessman. He had probably changed his number long ago to avoid annoyances, especially from an ex-wife like me.
In my desperation, I suddenly remembered Ethan. Ethan was his best friend, his right-hand man in the old days. The day we went to the courthouse, Ethan was there too, leaning against a tree in the distance, looking at me with a strange expression, as if he wanted to say something, but was holding himself back in anger. For 7 years, to sever all ties with my painful past, I hadn’t contacted Ethan either. I searched my old cloud-sync contacts. Luckily, Ethan’s number was still there.
The phone rang for a long time, an eternity that tested my patience. Just as I was about to hang up, someone picked up on the other end. There was no polite, “Hello,” just a heavy horse and hostile breath.
“Who is this?”
I cleared my throat, trying to speak calmly. “It’s me, Laura, Daniel’s ex, his ex-wife.”
The line went silent. A silence so long I thought the call had been dropped. The emptiness made my skin crawl. Suddenly, a dry laugh echoed, so cold and bitter, it chilled my blood. Ethan growled each word, hissing through his teeth.
“You still have the nerve to call me, Laura? You’re unbelievable. Where the hell have you been for seven years? What rock have you been hiding under? Why are you calling today of all days?”
His shouting left me stunned. Ethan had always been a calm, kind person. He always called me sis sweetly. He had never raised his voice at me. His unjustified anger both scared and infuriated me. I stammered. What are you talking about? I’m calling to ask about Daniel. Do you have his new number? I need to talk to him urgently. It’s about the bank card.
“The bank card?” Ethan interrupted, his voice rising, cracking with emotion. “So, it was about the money. You finally remembered the money, huh? Where were you when he was suffering like a dog? Where were you when he was lying alone in the dark? Now that the money is yours, you remember him?”
I stood frozen in the middle of the street, my ears ringing from his harsh accusations. I didn’t understand anything. Daniel suffering and lying alone. Wasn’t he living happily with his young, beautiful wife? Are you crazy? I shouted into the phone, tears welling up. Where is Daniel? I want to see him and have him explain everything. I don’t want his money. I just want to know why.
“Ask him.” Ethan’s laugh on the phone sounded like a sob, a broken and tragic sound. “If you want to ask him, you’ll have to go down to hell to do it. He’s dead. He died almost 7 years ago, 3 months after you left.”
The phone slipped from my hand and fell with a sharp crack on the pavement. The already broken screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass. I stood there, a lone, dry tree in the river of people, feeling as if an invisible hand had just reached into my chest and squeezed my heart.
I don’t know how I ended up at the diner. It was a small place tucked away on a side street where our group used to meet to talk about our entrepreneurial dreams when we barely had any money. The diner was still the same. The walls yellowed with age. The wooden booths worn down. The smell of cheap coffee ingrained in every corner. Only the people had changed.
I sat hunched in a booth hugging a glass of ice water. My eyes fixed on the door. Ethan walked in, bringing the sweltering heat of the summer afternoon with him. When I saw him, I almost didn’t recognize him. The handsome, polished man of the past looked years older, his hair almost completely gray, his face etched with bitter lines, and his eyes sunken and dark.
He pulled out a chair and sat across from me. He threw a pack of cigarettes on the table and looked at me with a mix of pity, reproach, and a hint of resentment. Tell me, I began, my voice. This thing about Daniel being dead, it’s a joke, right? It’s impossible.
Ethan didn’t answer right away. He lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Through the white veil, I could see his eyes were red. He laughed without joy.
“You think I have time to joke about my best friend’s life? He’s really dead, Laura. Bone cancer. Terminal.”
The words terminal cancer landed between us like two lead weights. I felt my chest tighten, making it hard to breathe. The image of Daniel on the day of the divorce flashed in my mind. His loose black trench coat, his pale, colorless face, and his slightly unsteady posture, which at the time I had attributed to being drunk, or to his contempt for me.
Ethan tapped the ash from his cigarette, and in a grave voice began to recount the story I had missed for seven years. He told me about the days when Daniel started feeling sharp pains in his bones, but hid it from me, lying about business trips to go to the hospital for tests. He told me about the day Daniel got the results, sitting on a hospital bench all afternoon in silence. At that time, Daniel’s company was at its peak with a bright future ahead. But fate had cruy erased him from life.
Why didn’t he tell me? I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I was his wife. Whatever happened, we should have faced it together. Why did he lie and say he was having an affair? Why did he push me away?
Ethan looked at me, his expression softening slightly, but still filled with pain.
“Do you remember what you were like back then, Laura? You were a delicate flower. You cried over everything. You were scared of ugly things. Daniel knew you better than anyone. He didn’t want you to see him in the emaciated, pathetic state of a dying man.”
Ethan continued, each word a stab to my heart.
“He wanted you to remember him as the handsome, arrogant Daniel, the bastard who left you so you would have the courage to hate him, to forget him, and to move on. Sometimes hate is a more effective painkiller than pity. It makes you stronger.”
I bit my lip to suppress a sob. So his cruelty that day was the most tender and painful protection he could offer me.
I had lived for seven years fueled by resentment, using my hatred for him as the engine to overcome my misery to keep from falling apart. I thought I was strong, but in reality I was just a stupid puppet in the clumsy play he had staged.
But what about the money? I hesitated. The 2 million. Where did he get that much money at that time?
Ethan stubbed out his cigarette inside.
“He sold the company, sold it at a loss, right when it was at its peak. In the business world, the rumor was that he had gone crazy or had gambling debts and needed cash urgently. He let the competition drive the price down, losing almost half its real value just to raise those $2 million in clean money to deposit in the bank for you. He said that in this life, he couldn’t protect you anymore, so he would let the money do it in his place.”
I buried my face in my hands, tears streaming uncontrollably. I remembered how for years I had cursed him, wishing him the worst every time I struggled. I reveled in the thought that he was living happily at the expense of my pain. But the truth was, while I was hating him, he was silently selling his life’s work, selling his last ounces of strength to pave the way for me.
The unfaithful husband I hated so much turned out to be the man who loved me to the point of foolishness.
Ethan ordered another black coffee on the rocks. The clinking of the ice against the glass sounded incredibly lonely. He began to delve deeper into those dark days, into the secrets Daniel had taken to his grave.
“Do you know what the first question he asked the doctor was when they handed him his death sentence?” Ethan looked at me, his gaze lost in a painful memory. “He didn’t ask how much time he had left or if there was a cure. He asked the doctor, ‘Will I be in a lot of pain? Will I get really ugly?’”
I was frozen. Daniel had never been a man who cared about his appearance. He always laughed when I told him he looked like a mess. And yet, in the face of death, his greatest fear was ugliness.
Ethan smiled sadly. “At the time, I called him an idiot, too. About to die and worried about being handsome or ugly. But he grabbed my hand. It was ice cold. And said, ‘You don’t get it, Ethan. Laura loves beautiful things, and she’s a neat freak. I don’t want her to see me losing all my hair, a skeleton lying in a hospital bed with a bunch of tubes. I don’t want her to have to change my diapers, to have to clean up after me. I’m scared. I’m scared of seeing the horror in her eyes when she sees me turned into a monster.’”
My tears started flowing again, hot, rolling down my cheeks. I remembered that I had, in fact, always been afraid of hospitals. The smell of disinfectant and seeing open wounds. Once Daniel fell off his motorcycle and scraped his arms and legs, the sight of the blood made me turn pale. He had to bandage himself while comforting me.
He remembered everything. He remembered even my smallest fears and used his own pain to shield my weakness. He was afraid it would traumatize me, that I would suffer, so he chose to push me away so I would only remember him as a handsome traitor, not a walking corpse.
“He suffered a lot, Laura.” Ethan’s voice broke. “Bone cancer is one of the most painful. Pains like someone drilling into your spinal cord so bad that even the strongest painkillers didn’t work. There were nights he would bite down on a towel so he wouldn’t scream. He would be drenched in sweat, writhing like a cooked shrimp. But as soon as morning came, he would force himself to sit up, comb his hair, put on that thick black trench coat to hide his increasingly emaciated body, and go out to play the part of an arrogant CEO.”
I pictured the scene, and my heart clenched. The man I had shared my life with, the strong man who had always protected me, had to endure that torture in solitude.
And what was I doing at that time? I was sitting in my rented room, stewing in my heartbreak, and silently cursing him. My indifference, my stupid naivity, was the second knife in his back.
After the cruel illness, he told me. Ethan choked on a sob. He said to me,
“Ethan, it hurts so much. I want to call Laura. I just want her to give me a hug, but I don’t dare. I’m afraid that if I hear her voice, I’ll soften. I’ll start crying and begging her to come back. And that would be pathetic, selfish. I’m about to die. I can’t drag her life down with me.”
I covered my mouth and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the empty diner. Daniel, you were such a fool. You took it upon yourself to decide for me. You assumed I couldn’t handle it. But you don’t know that the pain of being abandoned without knowing why, the pain of living with resentment and hatred for seven years is as cruel as death.
If you had told me even just one word, I would have been willing to walk through that hell with you. No matter how ugly, how bad you smelled, how emaciated you were, you were still my husband, the man I loved most. But now it was all too late. My apologies, my love. He would never be able to hear them.
I dried my tears with a paper napkin, trying to calm myself. There was still something I didn’t understand, something that had tormented me for years, making me feel inferior and humiliated. It was that woman, the young, beautiful, and elegant woman waiting for Daniel in the car that day.
“Who was she?” I asked in a choked voice. “Ethan, the girl who was in the car the day of the divorce. Was she really his new girlfriend? Did she know about his illness?”
At the mention of her, Ethan let out a laugh. A laugh so bitter it was extreme. He shook his head.
“New girlfriend? What the hell? She was a low-level model, a senior in the drama department that Daniel hired.”
“Hired?” My eyes widened.
“Yes, hired.” Ethan emphasized. “He paid her $500 for a day’s work. Daniel said he needed someone to play the part of the mistress and stage a final breakup scene. He chose her because she had a sophisticated, hotty air, the type of woman you were always jealous of. He wanted you to believe he had changed because he was crazy about a younger, more beautiful, and richer girl than you. So you would leave without looking back.”
$500. The price of the performance that broke my heart and changed my life completely. Just $500.
Suddenly, I started to laugh. A laugh that turned into tears. I had been jealous. I had suffered. I had compared myself to a non-existent mistress. Felt insecure about being old and ugly, inferior to her in every way, and it was all a paid performance.
That day, Ethan continued in a solemn voice. After you left, Daniel sat in the car watching your back in the rearview mirror. The actress tried to take his arm to comfort him. Following the script, he slapped her hand away, shouting,
“Get out!”
Then he buried his head in the steering wheel and started coughing violently. He coughed up blood, staining a white handkerchief red. He told me,
“Ethan, I’m such a bastard. I’ve hurt Laura. Seeing her cry tears me apart inside. I just want to get out of the car, hug her, and tell her I’m sorry, that I don’t want to divorce anymore. Let’s go home, honey.”
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.
I listened as if someone were strangling my heart. I imagine Daniel in that luxury car appearing like an unfaithful man on the outside, but inside with a body ravaged by disease and a heart bleeding for me. He wore that thick black trench coat, not to look elegant, but to hide the tremors of pain to conceal his emaciated body. He smoked non-stop, not out of addiction, but perhaps so the bitter taste of smoke would mask the metallic taste of blood in his throat.
“He acted too well, didn’t he?” Ethan looked at me, his eyes full of pain. “He fooled you. He fooled everyone. Everyone insulted him, called him a social climber, a user, and he took it all. He said he’d rather carry a bad reputation forever than see you suffer. He used his honor as a man to buy your freedom. You hated him for seven years, but he loved you until his last breath.”
I stood there paralyzed, feeling like the most foolish person in the world. I saw what he wanted me to see. I believed what he wanted me to believe, never looking beyond into his eyes to see the immense pain they held.
A $500 performance cost seven years of my youth and his entire life. If only I had been more insistent that day, if I hadn’t turned away immediately out of pride, if I had been perceptive enough to notice the strangeness of his actions. But life has no ifonies. Everything was written according to the tragic script Daniel had created, and I was the naive protagonist who played her part perfectly until the end, knowing nothing.
Ethan stubbed out his third cigarette in the already full ashtray. The smoke swirled and dissipated like Daniel’s short life. I remained silent, but a storm was raging inside me. The question about the $2 million was still buzzing in my head, a figure too large, almost illogical for a growing company that still needed working capital like Daniels at the time.
Ethan read the doubt in my eyes. He smiled bitterly, a pained, crooked smile.
“You’re wondering where the money came from, aren’t you, Laura? Do you know what vultures do when a lion is wounded on the savannah?”
I shook my head, a lump in my throat preventing me from speaking. Ethan continued, his voice turning grally like the grinding of stones.
“They swoop in to devour it. As soon as Daniel knew he didn’t have much time left, his first decision wasn’t to check into a hospital, but to sell the company. It was his baby, the one he had built from scratch his sweat and tears, his entire youth.”
Ethan recounted how Daniel needed cash urgently, and most importantly, it had to be clean money, legally transferred so I could use it without any legal trouble in the future. The rumor that Daniel wanted to sell spread, and investors descended like hungry beasts. They didn’t care about the company’s real value, only that Daniel needed the money now. The competitors Daniel had once defeated, the ones who smiled and shook his hand at parties, now came back to squeeze him dry.
“He accepted everything,” Ethan said, rage glinting in his eyes as he recalled the scene. “The company was really worth almost $4 million, but they lowballed him down to two and a half. Daniel didn’t haggle over a single word. He had only one condition, immediate cash payment into the fiduciary account. He signed the contract to sell his creation with a hand that trembled so much he could barely hold the pen, having to cover his mouth with a handkerchief from time to time to cough.”
I listened as if a thousand needles were piercing my heart. I remembered reading in the business section back then that the company had changed hands. I even laughed with disdain, thinking that greedy Daniel had sold it to go enjoy life with his mistress. I had no idea that behind that trembling signature was a silent sacrifice. He sold his pride, his career, the honor of a businessman to secure the financial future of the woman he was about to abandon.
Ethan looked at me, his eyes boring into my soul.
“He used half a million to pay the employees salaries, settle debts, and give his parents something for their old age. The remaining 2 million, he put it all on that card for you. He said he owed you a complete home in this life. He owed you children, so he was paying you back with money. Even though he knew money can’t buy happiness, at least it would mean you wouldn’t have to bow your head to anyone because of poverty.”
I buried my face in my hands, tears soaking my fingers. I had accused him of being callous, cruel, but his cruelty was filled with love. He had planned everything, cleaning up any trace, enduring the humiliation of his rivals, just to make sure that when I held that card, I would be the freest and richest woman. And he accepted walking away with empty hands, carrying a bad reputation and a physical pain no one knew about.
In the empty diner, the melancholic music of a singer songwriter played from a speaker in the corner, making the atmosphere even more somber. Ethan took a sip of his black coffee. The bitterness seemed to wake him up to continue the unfinished story. He looked at me with a certain curiosity inside.
“Actually, that day he and I made a bet, a bet I lost spectacularly, and he won, but with a broken heart.”
I lifted my swollen eyes to Ethan, my voice cracking. A bet? You bet on my divorce?
“Not on the divorce, but on the card?” Ethan shook his head, his voice tinged with sadness. “When he gave you the card, I tried to stop him. I told him giving it to you like that was a humiliation. That you would never accept it or that you’d pick it up just to throw it back at him. Your pride is bigger than a cathedral. I told him, ‘Your dignity is everything. How could you accept money from the man who betrayed you?’”
I fell silent. Ethan was right. At that moment, my dignity was the only thing I had to hold on to. If Daniel had given me the money kindly, I probably would have thrown it in his face, but he tossed it on the ground. He used the most hurtful words to provoke me, causing me to keep it as a trophy of my hatred.
Ethan continued.
“Daniel laughed and told me, ‘You don’t know my wife. Laura is stubborn, but she’s also very practical. I have to make her hate me. Hate me so much that she’ll want to keep that card to rub it in my face someday. But I’ll bet you anything, she won’t spend a single scent. She’ll lock it away. She’ll starve. She’ll take a job washing dishes before she touches a dime of this bastard husband’s money.’”
Did he? Did he really say that? I stammered, feeling a sharp pain in my chest. He knew me perfectly. He knew my strong yet contradictory character.
“Yes, that’s what he said.” Ethan nodded. “He said that money wasn’t for you to waste right away. It was the ultimate safety net. He wanted you to manage on your own, to stumble and get back up, to mature. Only when you were truly backed into a corner when life had you cornered would you remember the card. And at that moment, that money would be your savior, not a psychological burden.”
I thought back over the last seven years, the countless times I was broke, the times I picked up the card and put it down again. I thought I was doing it to maintain my dignity, to show Daniel I didn’t need him. But in reality, I was just following the path he had laid out for me. He wanted me to be strong to stand on my own two feet. But he also feared I would fall. So he had secretly placed a soft cushion at the end of the road.
“I lost.” Ethan smiled bitterly. “I thought you’d spend the money or throw the card away, but you kept it for seven years, just as he predicted. He won, but the price was too high. He gambled with your misunderstanding and his own loneliness. Sometimes I’d ask him, ‘And what if Laura really does throw the card away?’ He would just smile sadly and say, ‘Then that’s my bad luck and she’ll have her own destiny. God will provide. I’m sure she won’t starve.’”
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