Chapter 5

Grace POV

At 2 PM, Professor Miller called me.

Professor Miller was my graduate school advisor and a highly respected expert in sports medicine.

After graduation, we occasionally kept in touch, but ever since I transferred to administration, we talked less and less.

His call surprised me.

"Grace, this year there's a fully-funded clinical medicine scholarship for studying abroad, at ETH Zurich in Switzerland, in sports medicine. I checked the requirements, and it needs academic paper publications and clinical background."

He paused.

"You perfectly meet the criteria."

My hand tightened around my phone.

Professor Miller continued,"I know you've changed roles these past few years, but those two papers you published are solid, and I know your clinical foundation best."

"This opportunity doesn't come every year. I can write you a letter of recommendation."

My heart suddenly sped up.

My throat felt dry. It took me a while to squeeze out,"Professor Miller, this program… how long is it for?"

"Three years. If you pass the assessment, you can directly transition into a PhD degree upon return."

I was silent for a long time.

Professor Miller probably sensed my hesitation, sighing,"Grace, you were one of the most brilliant students I ever taught. You shouldn't waste away in an administrative office."

"You're only twenty-eight, there's still time."

That sentence hit harder than anything Ethan had ever said.

Clutching my phone, my voice trembled slightly:"Professor Miller, I want to go."

He chuckled on the other end:"Good. I'll submit your recommendation materials today. Send me your resume and paper list tonight."

After hanging up, I sat at my desk for a long time.

Then my phone lit up again.

It was an Observer app notification.

[14:38 Ethan's Current Location: Operating room, mid-surgery status, all vitals normal. He still doesn't know.]

Those last five words felt like a self-added note from the app.

He still didn't know his wife had just received a call, a call that could uproot her from here.

He was on the operating table, mending other people's bones and tendons.

And I was preparing to cut him out of my life.

…

After work that evening, I met up with Maya.

Maya was my college roommate, now a lawyer specializing in medical malpractice.

We met at a coffee shop across from the hospital. She arrived before me.

As I sat down, she looked me up and down:"Did you and Ethan argue?"

I shook my head.

"I'm considering divorcing him."

Maya's hand, holding her cup, froze.

She put down her cup and looked at me seriously:"Tell me everything."

I briefly recounted the events of these past few years.

Without any embellishment.

Giving up my PhD, transferring to administration, organizing his data without credit.

Waiting for him late at night in the hallway when he didn't come home, taking a taxi to the ER alone for appendicitis.

And Serena.

Maya listened without interrupting. Only after I finished did she speak, her voice much lower than before.

"Grace, every single thing you just mentioned, taken individually, might not seem like a big deal."

"But do you know, domestic abuse isn't just about physical violence. What you're describing, in legal terms, is called emotional neglect."

She looked into my eyes.

"You're not throwing a tantrum; you've been drained."

My nose suddenly stung.

I held back the tears.

I'd cried enough these past few years, always alone in my room, wiping my face clean afterwards and pretending everything was fine.

Maya then asked,"How do you plan to handle it? Will he agree to a divorce?"

"I haven't told him yet."

"Does he have any leverage over you? What about finances?"

I thought for a moment:"The house is his, the car is his. We don't have joint savings; we keep our finances separate. When we got married, he gave a wedding gift, but my mom returned it intact."

Maya nodded:"That makes things cleaner. If he doesn't agree, we still have options."

She patted my hand:"Do what you want to do. Leave the legal stuff to me."

Looking at her, I suddenly remembered college, the four of us crammed onto the balcony eating snacks. Maya had said she wanted to be a lawyer and specially fight for those who'd been wronged.

Back then, I'd said,"Then I'll come to you if I ever get wronged."

She'd replied,"No way. With your personality, who would dare bully you?"

Turns out I was right.

It wasn't someone else bullying me; I had slowly, bit by bit, worn down my own spirit.