He Said I Was Nothing, So I Left with Everything

I hadn't had time to sort things out with the bank when Sullivan's mom called early the next morning.

"Amira, Sullivan mentioned you've moved out?"

Her voice was soft, almost gentle, and completely unreadable. Six years, and it was always the same—measured, calm.

"Yes, Aunt Leila. I've moved out."

"Young couples disagree. It's normal. Sullivan isn't exactly good with words, so don't hold it against him."

Not good with words. Yet he'd had no trouble boasting about his new lover to his buddies over drinks.

"Aunt Leila, this isn't just a disagreement."

"Then what is it? Tell me, and I'll help you put him in his place."

I wanted to bring up the OB appointment, the college girl, the obvious baby bump. But the words wouldn't come.

I knew Sullivan's mom too well. If I told her, she'd say it in that same flat, indifferent tone: "Men will be men. They make mistakes. What matters is that he cares about you." Then she'd wave it all away like it was nothing.

"Aunt Leila, Sullivan and I need to handle this ourselves."

"Oh." She sighed.

"Amira, let me be blunt—don't take this the wrong way."

"You and Sullivan have been together six years. There's real love there. You can't just call it quits, can you?"

"Especially with the wedding date set, the invitations out, and everyone already talking."

"You moving out—what are people going to think? How does that make me look?"

My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles went white. She hadn't said one word about what her son did to drive me out. Only that my leaving embarrassed her.

"Aunt Leila, do you know why I moved out?"

"Sullivan said you've been emotional lately—maybe work stress—and that you might be overthinking things…"

"I saw him with another woman at a prenatal appointment."

Silence on the other end. Two seconds. Just two seconds.

"Amira, I know about that. Sullivan told me. That's his coworker's wife. The coworker was out of town, so Sullivan was just helping her out."

My hand trembled. I was stunned by the excuse. Coworker's wife? He'd had his arm around her waist.

I'd checked at the nurses' station. The family-member field clearly read: Sullivan Torres.

"Aunt Leila, I'm busy. I have to go."

"Amira, listen to what I have to—"

I hung up. The screen reflected my red-rimmed eyes. I hadn't even realized I was crying.

A WhatsApp notification popped up. It was from Sullivan.

"Did my mom call you? Listen to what she told you. Stop jumping to conclusions and making a fuss. Come back."

Then another.

"Hurry up and take our future home off the market. My friend saw the listing and asked if we're not getting married. How am I supposed to explain that?"

And another.

"Amira, what do you want? I need an answer."

I stared at the three messages for a long time, reading each word like it had been written by a stranger.

Not one asked if I was okay. Not one explained what had happened that day. Every word was about how I'd embarrassed him, upset his mom, and made his life inconvenient.

I closed the chat and opened my banking app.

Automatic payments: canceled.

Confirm.

As I set my phone down, a message from Colter popped up.

"I've adjusted the contract. Take a look—if it looks good, we can move forward with your start date."

I'd been job hunting for a month. Sullivan didn't know. He probably thought I couldn't manage without him—just like he'd told me countless times over the past six years.

"What can you do on your own? You can't even drive a car."

"You think jobs are easy to find out there? Without me, you couldn't even cover the mortgage."

And I believed him. For six years.

"Colter, I signed the contract. I'll start next Monday."

"Great."