Katherine’s simple life with Michael shattered when he filed for divorce after her grandfather’s death, only to reappear later sporting a luxury car and designer clothes.
To make matters worse, he callously threw a $100 bill at her. But it was the smiley face on that bill that would expose a shocking truth.
My life changed in a supermarket parking lot, of all places. But I should back up a bit.
My divorce from Michael had been finalized about a month ago.
It had been his choice entirely and completely out of the blue.
I didn’t fight it. What was the point? Sometimes people just fall out of love.
So I let him go, and we hadn’t seen each other since.
But on a random weekday, I was picking up cat food for my clinic’s newest rescue when a flash of white caught my eye.
I turned to stare out of the window to the parking lot and saw a pristine sports car between two faded sedans.
It was a new model, and I was trying to remember what brand the logo represented when the driver’s door swung open, and my heart stopped.
Michael stepped out, but it wasn’t the Michael I remembered.
My husband had worn khakis from clearance racks and whatever T-shirt he could find in his closet.
But more often than not, he was in his grocery store cashier uniform. That had been his job for the longest time. He worked six days a week and earned slightly more than minimum wage.
But my now ex-husband was wearing a designer suit that probably cost more than our old apartment’s rent.
A Rolex glinted on his wrist, and his hair was expertly styled, not the messy mop he used to have.
I don’t know what propelled me, but I left my cart behind and walked outside. “Michael?” His name slipped out as I got closer to his car.
He turned, and for a split second, I caught something in his eyes. But it vanished instantly, replaced by cold disdain.
I forced myself to be civil.
After all, we’d spent 12 years together. “Hey! Wow, congrats!
This must be the car you’ve always dreamed about. Looks like you’re doing really well! Do you get a new job?”
“Katherine, we’re not together anymore.
This is really not your business,” he responded, fixing his hair while walking past me. “Oh, wait,” he stopped at the grocery store entrance and reached into his pocket. “You can have this.
Think of it as my parting gift.”
A $100 bill flew in the air and fell on the asphalt right at my feet. Was he insane? I wasn’t a beggar.
Throughout our entire relationship, I’d earned more.
After all, I was a veterinarian, and he was a cashier. I’d never minded; we were high school sweethearts, and money wasn’t supposed to matter. I had been happy in our little apartment… until he asked for a divorce.
Who was this person?
“Really?” I asked, raising my voice.
“This is who you are now?”
Michael just smirked and went into the store. I was about to stomp to my car, but something made me pick up the bill on the asphalt.
And my eyes immediately landed on a small smiley face below the 100. It brought back a memory of the last conversation I had with Grandpa.
The doctors had already said he didn’t have much time left after a serious diagnosis.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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