After Five Years, I Left the Man Who Faked Being Poor

To scrape together the down payment on our wedding home, Kent Delgado canceled my family credit card.

He said we both had to learn to be careful with money, to stretch every dollar until it split in two.

I agreed. I started buying clothes off street racks, eating food past its sell-by date.

Even at a 102-degree fever, I couldn't bring myself to spend money on a cab to the hospital.

Standing in line at the ER to pay, I had a few dollars left on my card.

Shaking, I called Kent for help.

The call connected, and on the other end I heard a saleswoman's polite voice:

"Mr. Delgado, this three-million-dollar pink diamond necklace really suits the young lady's elegance."

Kent answered without a second's hesitation:

"Put it on the card."

I froze where I stood, staring at the $150 charge on the payment slip,

and I couldn't hold back the tears.

It wasn't that he had no money. It wasn't that we had to be careful.

He just thought I wasn't worth spending a single cent of his.

……………………………………

The phone slid through my fingers. I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing the sob rising in my throat.

The ER lobby was loud with voices, but somehow I couldn't hear any of it.

I stumbled out of the hospital, found some little clinic and bought a bit of medicine. My balance was down to twenty-eight dollars.

Back at the basement apartment I rented with Kent, the moment I opened the door, the smell of mildew and shut-in damp hit me in the face.

Kent's note from this morning was still on the table:

"Don't buy groceries today. There's leftover rice in the fridge from the other day."

I suddenly laughed, and the tears came anyway.

Five years I'd been with him. Five years of pinching and going without.

And what it bought me was him throwing away a fortune on another woman.

I grabbed a fistful of pills and shoved them in my mouth, then dragged myself along the wall, step by step, to the bed.

I didn't sleep well. Fragments of all those years flickered through my dreams.

Back when Kent first chased me, he'd made such a spectacle of it that the whole school knew.

I remember the day I said yes to him. His eyes were so bright, the tenderness in them almost spilling over.

The passionate boy in my memory blurred into the Kent of now, colder and colder.

Half-conscious, I heard the door push open.

Kent walked softly to the bed and reached out to touch my forehead.

A moment later he laid a cool towel across it.

"Philippa Simmons, get better soon."

He paused, his voice rough:

"It's my fault. I'm useless, and I've dragged you into suffering with me."

A single tear ran from the corner of my eye onto the pillow.

Kent, I've suddenly realized I don't understand you at all.

The next morning I woke to the smell of food.

Kent, in an apron, was busy in the kitchen we'd partitioned off.

He turned, saw I was awake, and his eyes lit up.

"Philippa, how are you feeling? Anything still hurting?"

I shook my head.

"Food's almost ready. Should I bring it to you in bed, or do you want to get up and eat?"

I pushed back the blanket, and the second I stood my legs went out from under me.

Kent crossed the room in two quick strides and caught me.

"See, a small place has its perks. Any bigger and you'd have hit the floor just now."

There was pride in his voice.

I said nothing and walked into the kitchen, where I found the pot held rice left over from who knew how many days ago, a few scattered bits of egg floating on top.

He scratched his head, his eyes full of guilt:

"Philippa, I'm sorry. It's all we've got in the house."

"If only I had money. At least when you're sick I could get you something decent to eat."

My hands started trembling on their own. Inside I went cold all over.

Kent scooped the rice into a bowl and handed it to me.

I ate without tasting a thing, and saw the space in front of him was empty.

"You're not eating?"

Kent went stiff for an instant.

"I'm not hungry. Besides, there's not much food left. The sick one eats first."

I glanced at him and said nothing.

Before long, Kent had washed the bowl and plate I'd finished with.

"Philippa, I'm off to work. Rest up at home. Don't rush back to your job."

And then he hurried out the door.

After Kent left, I followed him through one turn after another until we reached a district of estates.

What I saw in front of me hit me like a bolt of lightning.