Leaving The Man Who Never Chose Me

I switched off the screen and pulled out the Harvard acceptance letter that had arrived just this morning.

A year and a half of grinding, all of it distilled into this one letter. He was the first person I'd wanted to tell.

A sound came from the doorway.

Greg came in, a drunk Yolanda leaning against him.

The perfumes on the two of them tangled together, so cloying it turned my stomach.

Greg never liked me wearing perfume. He always said it smelled awful.

He settled Yolanda into a bedroom.

It was the biggest room in the house, the master, and Greg had handed it over to her.

He said it wasn't safe for a girl like Yolanda to live alone.

He'd had that bedroom decorated beautifully, every piece of furniture custom-made.

The room I slept in had furniture I'd dug up secondhand.

He came back out, quiet on his feet, and sat down beside me.

There was a crystal necklace in his hand. He reached over, swept my hair aside, and fastened it around my neck.

"I should've been with you today and gone to her tomorrow. But Yolanda threw a fit, so I had to go smooth things over first. Give me a few days and I'll throw you another wedding, all right?"

One glance at the necklace was all I needed to know it was a promotional freebie.

I'd already seen this exact style on Yolanda's social media feed.

I pushed him off, my voice level. "No need. There's no point in another wedding."

At that, Greg let out a small laugh.

"Is my wife worried about the money? Looking out for me, are you?"

I said it softly. "I just don't think there's any point anymore."

Greg got up and went into the kitchen to make Yolanda a sobering broth. He almost never cooked.

I stared at his back. "Have Yolanda move out. Otherwise, we're done."

His hand froze mid-reach for a bowl.

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm not being difficult. I mean it."

The words had barely left me when the second bedroom door clicked open.

Yolanda stood in the doorway, barefoot, her voice fragile and wounded.

"Sis, don't fight with Greg over me. I'll just go."

And she moved to grab the little purse she'd left in the living room.

Greg tossed the bowl onto the counter and crossed the room in a few quick strides, blocking her path. "Where do you think you're going at this hour? Stay right here. No one's going to throw you out."

He turned back to me, his tone accusing. "Act like an adult. Whatever's between us, don't drag her into it."

I looked at the two of them, and my heart sank all the way down.

Yolanda clutched the door frame, choking back a small sob. "I'm sorry, sis. This is my fault. But I still have to thank you. Thank you for being willing to pay the down payment on my house…"

Greg's face changed.

My head went blank in an instant. I pulled up our joint savings account.

The balance on the screen read zero. Not a cent left.

I lifted my eyes and fixed them on Greg, my throat tight and trembling. "You took the down payment we'd been saving for our house and bought her one?"

Greg's gaze darted away without his meaning it to.

"She's a girl on her own, no roots in the city. It's only right for me to help her out."

"And me?" I cut him off. "What about our home? What about our future?"

He frowned, impatient. "So what if the house comes a little later? With what I can earn, you're seriously worried I can't get you a place?"

This was never about the timing of a house.

From the moment he started bankrolling Yolanda, everything had already changed.

The money we'd saved paid her tuition and covered her exchange abroad, and now even the down payment for our marriage home had been rerouted to hand her hers.

A life meant for two people, forced open to make room for a third.

Exhaustion flooded through me. I had no strength left to argue. I turned and went back into the bedroom.

Greg pushed the door open right behind me, his soothing tone half-hearted. "Don't sulk. Yolanda's going to pay all of it back later. I'd never just throw money at her for no reason."