He Owed Me Everything, Gave Me Nothing

I pressed a hand to my bleeding forehead. Blood seeped between my fingers and dripped onto the greasy floor.

Through the blur, I saw Jax tenderly putting a Band-Aid over a tiny scratch on the back of Camilla’s hand.

“Camilla, don’t be scared. It’s okay now.”

Camilla clung to his sleeve, her eyes red, looking as if she’d been terribly wronged.

When the thug charged in and swung that bottle at Jax, I threw myself in front of him without thinking. I took the blow that could have killed him.

But he didn’t even turn around.

All he had eyes for was a frightened Camilla.

I didn’t say a word. I quietly turned and dragged myself out of the restaurant.

I thought back to when he’d always put me first, when I was his whole world.

When I ran a high fever, he was more worried than I was. He stayed up with me all night and didn’t even care about missing his class reunion.

He’d sworn he would only ever love me and would never let me down.

But now my head had been split open, and he acted like he didn’t even see it. He only cared about another woman.

Late at night, the clinic on the corner glowed with harsh white light.

The doctor on duty cleaned the gash on my forehead with alcohol. It was so deep you could see bone. I couldn’t afford anesthetic, so I just had to tough it out.

When the needle went through my skin, I broke out in a cold sweat from the pain. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out.

“This is a deep cut, and you might have a concussion,” the doctor said with a frown. “Call someone in your family to come stay with you.”

I didn’t answer. I just numbly took out my phone.

The screen lit up, showing three years’ worth of transfer records.

To help Jax pay off the loan-shark debt his father left behind, I’d worked nonstop, every single day.

I’d worked myself sick more times than I could count, even suffering stomach bleeding from the strain.

Every cent of that hard-earned money had gone into his account, one transfer after another.

I stared at the long columns of numbers. I’d run out of tears a long time ago.

In that moment, something in me died.

I dragged myself back to our rental.

The second I opened the door, a sickly sweet smell hit me.

Jax was wearing an apron. He came over carrying a mug of hot chocolate.

He set the mug down and gently brushed the blood-crusted strands of hair away from my forehead, his eyes full of tenderness.

“Daisy, I’m sorry. Things were just so crazy back there.

“Camilla’s raising a kid on her own. She gets scared easily. You’ve always been strong and understanding. You get it, right?”

He cupped my face, his voice tender and apologetic. “Drink it while it’s hot.”

He had a way of doing the cruelest things while looking at me with nothing but love.

Even the slightest scare for Camilla would always matter more to him than my life.

I looked at that steaming mug, raised my hand, and shoved it away.

The ceramic mug scraped harshly across the table.

“Jax, let’s break up.”

Jax froze for a second.

He gave a helpless little chuckle and ruffled my hair as if I were a sulking kitten.

“All this over a bowl of spaghetti? Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that.

“A pipe burst at Camilla’s place, and there’s water everywhere. I need to go fix it.”

He turned, grabbed his toolbox, and stopped at the door to look back.

“Wait for me to come home.”

He didn’t believe for a second that I’d actually leave.

To him, I was a dog that couldn’t live without him. All he had to do was call, and I’d come running, tail wagging, ready to work myself to the bone for him again.

The door shut, and the room went dead silent.

I didn’t cry or throw a fit. I turned and dragged the beat-up suitcase out from under the bed.

I only took what was mine.

I opened the desk drawer to grab the manila envelope, then stopped short.

The envelope was flat.

There should have been $3,000 inside. I’d spent six months saving it, living on cold bread every day, so I could pay Mike Morgan’s tuition the next day. We had no one but each other.

It was gone.

In its place was a flimsy sheet of white paper.

Scrawled across it in cheap lipstick was a note: “Borrowed $3,000 from Daisy Morgan for an emergency. Thanks! —Camilla”

No mention of interest. No repayment date.

That was the money I’d saved for my younger brother Mike’s tuition.