I met Nate ten years ago at a thesis proposal defense. I had just returned to the States after a research stint abroad, and he was there representing his mentor on the review panel. He sat in the last row, his suit impeccably pressed, even the cuffs buttoned with precision.
While other professors asked polite, formulaic questions, Nate went straight for the weakest logical connection in my methodology.
“I read your paper in the Journal of Neural Science last year,” he said, eyes locked with mine. “Your analytical skills are solid. Don’t compromise them here.”
In that moment, I felt something unusual–he wasn’t trying to take me down a peg. He was warning me not to let conventional thinking trap me into mediocrity.
What followed seemed almost inevitable.
We applied for grants together, crunched data sets until dawn, pulled all–nighters to finish
submission materials before deadlines.
He was always the one who handled the final checks, quietly standing behind me, patching up the
holes I’d left in my rush forward.
I fell in love with him after the most ordinary dinner imaginable.
We’d been arguing all day about methodology for a joint paper. He suddenly fell silent, then took me
to this tiny Italian diner behind campus that everyone else overlooked.
Just a small table and two people who hadn’t eaten properly all day.
He picked the olives out of my pasta salad, then used a napkin to dab sauce that had splashed onto my sleeve.
“Sienna,” he said, “your fierce determination is a gift. But not every battle needs to be won. Save your energy for what truly matters.”
I looked at him then and just knew–I would marry this man.
Now, I couldn’t understand where we’d gone wrong.
00:52
His ‘Perfect Mistress? A Fraud. His Career? Mine Now.
1.5%
Chapter 3
If our problems stemmed from not having children, then he was the one who’d made that choice.
It happened shortly after our wedding. We were overseas for an academic conference when we stumbled into a mugging. I instinctively stepped in front of him.
When the knife came down, I felt heat bloom across my abdomen, like something was tearing me apart from the inside.
Nate was the one who carried me to the hospital, who fell to his knees outside the emergency room,
pounding his chest and crying until his voice gave out.
That night, his entire body trembled as he clutched my hand.
“Sienna, I’m so goddamn sorry,” he whispered, voice raw. “I swear, for the rest of my life, you’re the only precious thing I need. Just you. Only YOU.”
He meant it so deeply, cried so brokenly, that I believed him.
I never brought up having children again after that.
Yet here we were–Paige had given birth to his son.
I looked down at my phone and typed:
[Nate, let’s get divorce.]
00:52
