Sold His Dreams, Then Walked Out on Him

To help my husband, Ryan Whitaker, compete for the director position, I spend an entire month securing the sale of a luxury apartment worth tens of millions of dollars.

On the day the contract is signed, Ryan hands the primary contract to Lucinda Brooks, a new employee who has just joined the company.

When I demand an explanation, his eyes flicker with guilt.

Still, he argues, "Lucinda studied abroad. She is more academically accomplished than you, and her Iridian is better. The client happens to have a foreign business partner, so it'll be smoother if she takes the lead on the signing."

As he speaks, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, expecting me to compromise like I always do.

But this time, I don't smile but continue to pull a long face.

That very afternoon, I submit my resignation letter and hand over every core client under my management.

Ryan is furious as he tears up the resignation letter and mocks me. "When I married you, I didn't even care that you only graduated from high school. Why are you picking a fight with a newcomer now?"

I laugh.

It's true that I don't have an impressive educational background, but he's forgotten one most crucial thing.

I didn't earn my title as the company's sales champion through academic credentials.

When Ryan Whitaker tore my resignation letter into pieces, I didn't immediately rush to pacify him like I used to. Instead, I felt completely spent.

Over the years, he had used my education against me more times than I could count.

Ryan and I were childhood sweethearts, raised in the same small town, but I was practically raised by the neighborhood.

When we were kids, he would always sneak food out to me.

Whether it was his mom's fresh pastries or the candy his dad brought back from the city, he would always split it right down the middle with me.

We officially started dating during his freshman year of college, and that was the happiest time of my life.

Then, his dad suddenly fell ill.

The medical bills quickly snowballed into hundreds of thousands of dollars, completely crushing a family that never had much to begin with.

I still remember that winter night.

He was crouched in the hospital corridor, his eyes red-rimmed and his voice raw as he said to me, "Hannah, I'm dropping out. I have to find a job right now. I can't lose my dad!"

I was so angry that I didn't speak to him for days.

Later, I secretly handled my own withdrawal from school and started working around the clock to scrape together the money for his dad's treatment.

I didn't tell him because I knew he would never agree to it.

My advisor spent hours trying to talk me out of it, reminding me of how hard I had worked to earn my spot in college.

I told her it was fine and that I wasn't cut out for college anyway.

The truth was, I was lying. My grades were exceptional, but I was broke.

From that day on, as an orphan with no one to rely on, I worked day and night doing laundry, washing dishes, hand-delivering flyers, and running food deliveries.

The blisters on my hands would rupture and reform, and the skin on my shoulders was rubbed raw.

During the summer, when temperatures hit 104 degrees Fahrenheit, I would get heatstroke on my delivery routes. I'd just chug a couple of energy shots and keep pushing through.

In the winter, with temperatures dropping well below freezing, I would wash dishes at restaurants until my hands were red and swollen.

I worked three jobs a day, scraped together enough money to cover the medical bills, then kept pinching pennies to put him through college.

Meanwhile, my own education permanently ended with a high school diploma.

For the past six years, I practically killed myself working in real estate sales.

I drank until I suffered a gastric ulcer, secured 13 separate top-performer titles, and became widely recognized as the undisputed closer in the industry.

I never once threw my dropping out in his face, and I certainly never tried to use that old favor to hold him hostage.

But when Ryan was promoted to director, he began treating my lack of a degree like a weapon to hold over my head.

"Who exactly are you giving the cold shoulder to?"

When he realized I had fallen silent, Ryan's brow furrowed. He then rephrased his stance, just like he always did whenever we fought.

"I know you're upset, but Lucinda has studied abroad. When we host foreign investors, her presence provides the company with a good impression.

"We're husband and wife. What's mine is yours. Is it really worth throwing a tantrum over a measly commission?"

She provided the company with a good impression?

I sneered inwardly.

Oh, he certainly needed to make himself look good.

Whenever major clients visited the office, he would deliberately assign me to run errands. Those clients drove cars worth millions of dollars, and I wouldn't even get the chance to meet them.

Once, I happened to cross paths with a client at the lobby, struck up a conversation, and closed the deal right then and there.

When Ryan found out, he was not only unhappy, but he also gave me a massive lecture, claiming that going over his head to reach out to clients was against company rules.

Whenever senior executives came over to our house for dinner, he would claim he didn't want me to feel awkward since I didn't know anything about fine wine and suggest I go out to eat by myself.

Whenever he bought clothes for me, he never bought evening wear, casually claiming I lacked the elegance to pull it off.

At one point, I finally hit my limit and confronted him. "Are you really that terrified that I'm going to embarrass you?"

He brushed it off like it was nothing. "You're overthinking it. I just think you look much more comfortable in casual clothes."

He claimed it didn't matter, but in reality, he found it embarrassing to have a wife with nothing more than a high school diploma.

"You're right. She definitely makes the company look good."

I didn't have the energy to argue anymore. Refusing to back down like I usually did, I turned on my heel and left.

"Hannah!" Ryan called after me, his tone suddenly softening.

"My college classmates are having a reunion tonight. You've been pulling all-nighters for days, so just head straight home after work and get some rest, okay?"

Look at that. Even now, his only priority was saving face.

There had been several times when he had gatherings with his college crowd, and he would always suggest that I stay home and rest.

I used to be naive enough to be touched by it, believing he was just looking out for my well-being.

Now, I finally understood.

He was just mortified by the idea of bringing a high school-educated sales rep around his classmates who had studied abroad.

"Okay," I said.

I didn't bother calling him out and left.