Donna's hand froze in midair, her lips parting in shock.She probably never imagined, not in her whole life, that I'd be the one to say the word "finished" to her face.After all, I'd once buried myself in work without a thought for my own life, just to earn the right to marry her, too busy to even pick up my own physical exam results.My stomach, still torn up from drinking, hadn't even healed before I was out again with a briefcase, entertaining clients over contracts.Back then, Donna had still cared about me, at least a little. She'd said, "Or, I could help you, you know."But I hadn't caught even a trace of guilt in her voice; she only smiled and said, "It's fine. We'll be married soon."Soon. How soon was that supposed to be?A month. A year. Maybe five years.She would never understand how much it hurt, saving toward that last one hundred thousand, every time some sudden "setback" knocked me back to zero.Especially the helplessness I'd felt when my mother needed money
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