Chapter 1My Husband’s PhD Was Mine

My husband and I were the youngest tenure-track professors at the university.

I had just officially stepped aside, giving him my slot for the prestigious international research fellowship in London, when he came home to make a confession.

"June, I’ve fallen in love with someone else. She only finished high school, but she’s... vibrant. Pure. She has a kind of courage neither of us ever had."

He paused, looking at me with a mixture of pity and resolve. "You’re not like her. You’re established here; you have a brilliant career ahead of you in the States. But her? She needs to get out. Going with me is her only chance at a real life."

He took a breath, then added, "I’ll leave you everything in the divorce. The house, the savings—take it. It doesn’t matter. Once I’m overseas, I’ll have everything I need."

I nodded slowly, my voice trapped in my throat. I agreed to his terms.

Then, as soon as the door closed behind him, I dialed the Provost’s office.

If he was so intent on leaving with nothing, he could start by leaving behind the fellowship I’d gifted him.

* * *

Arthur actually had the audacity to chuckle when he saw the shock in my eyes.

"Daisy is just... she’s a beautiful soul, June."

"She used to bring me late-night takeout when I was pulling all-nighters in the lab. She’d just leave it at the door and text me a heart."

"When the pressure got too high, she’d just sit next to me in silence. She doesn't understand the physics, but she’s willing to try and understand me."

In that moment, I forgot how to breathe.

The year Arthur was finishing his PhD, he worked himself into a literal stomach ulcer. I was the one who stayed by his hospital bed for three days and nights, feeding him broth spoonful by spoonful.

The first time his grant proposal was rejected and he locked himself in his office, I was the one who climbed through the window with a bottle of scotch and sat on the floor with him until dawn.

I thought those things didn't need to be said.

We were a team. We had crawled out of the same state-run group home together, two kids with nothing in this world but each other’s ambitions.

But now, the very things that were supposed to be understood—the years of silent, grinding support—were being used as his justification for leaving.

I forced my hands to stop shaking and found my voice. "You’re thirty years old, Arthur. She’s eighteen. She’s a child."

He didn't even flinch. "I know. Age is just a number when two souls connect."

I looked him dead in the eye. "You started university at sixteen. You have a doctorate. You’re a rising star in academia. She’s a girl who barely passed her GED."

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "June, don't be an elitist. Education isn't the same thing as character. I won't have you looking down on her."

I felt like he’d doused me in ice water.

Maybe my expression was too horrific to look at, because his tone softened slightly. "Look, June, you don't need to cling to me. You have your work. You have your chair. You’ll be fine without me."

I waited for the 'but.'

"But Daisy is different," he continued, his eyes glazing over with a sickening kind of tenderness. "Her parents split when she was a toddler. She was raised by a grandmother who died last year. She’s been alone since then. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a girl like that? No degree, no connections, just scraping by in a world that wants to chew her up?"

He actually looked misty-eyed. "She needs this. She needs a fresh start in a place where no one knows her past. She needs me to save her."

It was absurd.

I was six when I was dumped in that group home. When I was twelve and burning up with a 104-degree fever, the staff told me to "tough it out." I was the one who crawled out of bed and walked two miles to the clinic alone.

When I got into the best prep school in the state on a scholarship at sixteen, I didn't have money for the meal plan. I spent my weekends scrubbing floors to pay for my books.

I had clawed my way up every single inch of the mountain.

But he didn't see that. He only saw the girl who was "pure" enough to play the victim, the one who made him feel like a hero.

Just this afternoon, the Provost had called me into his office. He told me there was only one opening for the prestigious fellowship in London this year. After looking at the publications, they wanted me.

I declined.

I told him Arthur needed the opportunity more, that his research direction was better suited for the European labs. I told him I was happy to stay behind and manage our department.

The Provost had been surprised, but he’d smiled. "You’re a supportive wife, June."

I wasn't a "supportive wife."

I was just the girl who remembered being twelve years old when the home gave out one piece of candy per child, and Arthur gave me his. I remembered being fifteen when some local kids tried to jump me, and Arthur ended up with a broken nose protecting me. I remembered being eighteen, both of us broke in college, and him eating ramen for a month so he could buy me a decent coat for my first internship.

I thought we were family.

And now, the moment I handed him his future on a silver platter, he was planning to use it to fly another woman away.

She needed a new life.

What about mine?

I grabbed the glass of water from the coffee table and hurled it at him.

"Get out!"

The glass clipped his shoulder and shattered against the floor, soaking his expensive wool sweater.

He didn't move. He just reached into his bag, pulled out a manila envelope, and set it on the table.

"The divorce papers are already signed," he said quietly. "Like I said, I’m taking nothing. The house, the equity, the accounts—it's all yours. Everything we built here stays with you."

He hesitated. "Think about it. When you’re ready to be rational, we’ll go to the courthouse."