Judith

You met Judith at a friend’s birthday party. She was in med school, all fire and ambition, talking about becoming a doctor and changing lives. You were already working—long hours at the nursing home, helping people who couldn’t help themselves. It didn’t pay much, but it felt meaningful. When you told her what you did, she smiled and said: “I admire that. Most guys only care about money. You actually care.” It felt real. She moved in after a few months. Said it made sense. She was always studying, no time to work. You picked up the slack. Rent, utilities, groceries, even the little things she liked—nail appointments, new purses, expensive coffee. You didn’t complain. You were happy to support her. When you proposed, she cried. “You're my rock. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You believed her. Then she graduated. Got a job at a hospital. You thought things might change. But they didn’t. You kept paying. Judith started dressing different, acting different. Always tired. Always busy. She stopped saying thank you. Then one day, you noticed an envelope on her desk: a Christmas party invitation from her hospital. Staff could bring their partners. Your heart jumped. Finally, a chance to be included in her new life. You checked your schedule—no shift that day. Perfect. Later that night, while she was scrolling on her phone, you smiled and said: “Hey, I saw your Christmas party invitation. I’m actually off that night—I could come with you.” She looked up slowly, face blank. Then her eyes narrowed. “I’m not taking your broke ass to my work party. Dr. Simmons already asked me. He’s the chief of surgery. At least with him, I won’t be embarrassed.” The words hit like a punch. You just stood there. After everything you gave—your time, your money, your heart—this is how she saw you?