Chapter 2My Husband’s PhD Was Mine

Arthur left, and I knew he wasn't coming back tonight.

The silence in the living room was deafening, punctuated only by the drip of water from the table.

I walked into the bathroom and stared at the woman in the mirror. I saw the lack of sleep in the dark circles under my eyes, the subtle fine lines at the corners of my lids, the way my face had thinned out from years of stress and ambition.

I looked like a woman approaching thirty who worked sixty hours a week.

I didn't look like an eighteen-year-old girl.

But I had been eighteen once.

I had been the one with the glowing skin and the bright eyes, looking at him as if he were the sun. I had been the one who skipped three grades and started my Master’s alongside him because I couldn't bear to be behind.

Because I loved him, I had nearly erased myself.

I edited his papers. I polished his grant proposals. I stayed up until 3:00 AM pulling data for his projects.

In the beginning, he was guilty about it. "June, thank you. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. We’ll go to the Caribbean as soon as this is over."

Then it became: "Can you just take one more look at this?"

And finally: "Finish this and email it to me when you’re done."

The year he got his Associate Professor title, I had even let him put his name as lead author on one of my papers. He’d said his tenure track was more "precarious" than mine, that he needed the win more.

I was the fool. I hadn't realized that while I was building a pedestal for him, I was digging my own grave. I hadn't realized that at twenty-nine, I was already the more successful academic. I was the youngest full professor in the department's history.

And I had almost given it all to him.

I looked at my reflection and slapped myself. Hard.

The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the rot in my chest.

June, you absolute idiot.

Betrayal by a man is one thing. Betrayal of your own potential is an unforgivable sin.

My phone buzzed. A mutual friend had posted a photo to a group chat.

There was Arthur at a local dive bar, his arm draped around a girl with messy blonde hair and a crop top. He was laughing. He looked... unburdened.

I didn't reply.

I walked back into the living room, picked up the divorce papers, and signed my name with a steady hand.

Then I called the Provost back.

"Sir? About that London fellowship. I’ve had a change of heart. I want it."

There was a long silence on the other end. "Are you sure, June? Arthur just submitted his resignation for his current position. If you take that slot, he’s... well, he’s going to be out of a job and a project."

This time, I didn't hesitate.

"I’m sure. That was his choice. It has nothing to do with me."

I wasn't a supportive wife anymore. And I was going to be an even worse ex-wife.