Post-Marriage: Still Supporting His Brother

I clenched my teeth, fighting to hold myself together.

George's phone rang again, and Ross's voice came through. "George, come over to my place right away."

George glanced at me with mixed feelings. "Ross needs me right now. We'll talk about this when I get back."

He hurried off, leaving me behind. Every bit of strength drained from my body, but one thought became crystal clear. This marriage had to end. I was divorcing him.

...

George didn't come back until midnight, reeking of smoke and alcohol. As usual, he sidled up, trying to wrap his arms around my waist.

The instant his skin touched mine, I recoiled like I'd been burned, every fiber of my being screaming in revulsion. "Don't touch me! You're disgusting!"

He gave a placating smile. "I figured you were upset and probably skipped dinner. I got you some barbecue. Want to head out and grab a bite?"

That was his classic deflection. Whenever we neared the heart of our problems, he'd pivot with this shallow show of care.

My voice turned icy. "I'm not as carefree as you; I can't stomach food right now. When we got married, your parents claimed they had no pension and asked for $2,000 a month from us. That money never reached them, did it? It was always for Ross, right from the start."

His smile stiffened, his eyes darting away. I pressed on. "When did you start helping with his mortgage?"

"The year he got married and bought his house." He faltered, his voice fading to a whisper.

Though I'd suspected as much, hearing it aloud sent a rush of blood to my head. I punched him hard in the chest. "What about me? In your grand plan, what am I? Just a dupe helping you bankroll your brother?"

I remembered how effortlessly his parents had shelled out 500,000 dollars for Ross's down payment at his wedding.

It had made me uncomfortable back then, and George had held me close, whispering, "Ross dropped out to fund my education. That's a debt I can never repay. Just let him have it. We'll make our own way."

I had believed him, draining the 300,000 dollars given by my parents and the 150,000 dollars I had saved from my job. Coupled with his measly 50,000 dollars, we scraped together a down payment for our house.

And now, he wasn't just conceding. He was endlessly subsidizing Ross.

He seized my hand, desperation in his voice. "Honey, I love you, of course. I wouldn't have married you otherwise. But I owe Ross; his grades were stellar, yet he sacrificed for me. I can never pay that back in a lifetime."

Numbness spread through me. It was the guilt card again, this massive stone weighing me down for years. But why should I be the one to pay for it?

I yanked my hand away, the last bit of warmth in my heart flickering out. "You've been repaying that debt for years now, and it's cost me five years of my life. It's more than enough. George Serrano, let's get a divorce."

He froze, clearly unprepared for those words. Having said my piece, I hauled out the suitcase I'd already packed and headed for the door.

In the parking lot, I walked to my BMW, only to find it gone. That car cost 80,000 dollars, bought by my parents. It had been there that morning.

An icy dread gripped me, and I rushed to the property management to check the surveillance footage.