I had poured all my savings into Wyatt’s medical studies over the past four years. The rent when his scholarship ran out. The textbooks that cost more than my car. The groceries when he was “too stressed” to work. Even the suit he wore that night—black, perfectly tailored, as if it had been sewn directly into his DNA—had been paid for partly with my restaurant tips.
My name is Ila . And I was the fool who believed that love and sacrifice were the path to a happy future.

I stood outside the hall where Wyatt’s parents were holding his graduation party, smoothing down my secondhand dress and breathing like I was about to run a marathon. Tonight had to be the big payoff. Tonight, Wyatt would acknowledge everything we’d built together. Maybe—just maybe—he’d propose.

If only I had known.

The room buzzed like a beehive swarming with luxury bees. Crystal chandeliers glittered. Wine glasses sparkled. Waiters floated by with appetizers that surely cost more than my rent. And in the middle of it all, there was Wyatt.

My Wyatt.

He was incredibly handsome, laughing with professors and shaking hands with future colleagues. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his teeth gleaming as if he’d had them professionally whitened (spoiler: I paid for that too). He carried himself like someone born for this life, even though I knew the truth. I’d seen the ramen dinners. The eviction notices. The panic when he failed his first anatomy exam and thought his dream was over.

He had survived all of that thanks to me.

“Ila!” Her voice echoed when she saw me across the room. She smiled at me and beckoned me over.

I made my way through the crowd, enduring sympathetic smiles and murmurs of congratulations from people I didn’t know, but who somehow knew that I was “the girlfriend who supported Wyatt throughout medical school.”

“You must be so proud,” a woman said, patting me on the arm.

Proud. Sure. Let’s call it “pride” to sell your twenties to finance someone else’s dream.

Wyatt put his arm around my waist when I reached his side. For a moment, with his warmth against me and the crowd cheering him on, I thought: It was worth it. This is what we work for.

And then, his father, Anthony Jacob, struck his glass with a knife. The room fell silent.

“As you all know, we’re here to celebrate my son’s incredible achievement,” Anthony thundered. “Four years of medical school, outstanding grades, and now a residency at the prestigious Metropolitan General Hospital. Wyatt, we couldn’t be prouder.”

Applause. Laughter. Toasts. My heart was pounding. Now comes the speech.

“But I think Wyatt has something to say,” his father added.

Wyatt stepped forward and took the microphone with an ease I’d never seen in him. His gaze swept across the crowd… until it settled on me.

A chill ran through my stomach.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” he began. “Medical school has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I couldn’t have made it without the support, dedication, and sacrifices of those around me.”

My throat tightened. Here it comes. He’s going to thank me.

—I want to thank my parents first, for their financial and moral support.

I blinked. Her parents had helped the first year, okay. But financial support? That had been me.

—I also want to thank my teachers, my mentors, my colleagues…

My palms started to sweat. And me? Where were my sixty hours a week, my empty bank account, everything I sacrificed so he could be there that night?

Finally, her eyes returned to me.

—And Ila… she was part of my journey. She worked hard and I appreciate everything she has done.

Appreciation.

As if I had baked him some cookies, not mortgaged my entire life.

But Wyatt wasn’t finished.

—However,—he said, his voice hardening—, as I begin this new chapter, I have come to understand that I must make difficult decisions for my future.

The silence fell like a ton of bricks.

—Ila, you’ve been with me throughout my student years, and I’ll always be grateful. But the truth is, as a doctor, I need a partner who’s on my professional and social level. Someone who understands the demands of my career. Someone of my caliber.

His words hit me like punches.

“A waitress and cashier,” she said, “doesn’t fit into the world I belong to now.”

The audience gasped. My ears were ringing.

—So tonight, as we celebrate, I also want to announce that I am beginning my residency as a single man, ready to build the life that corresponds to my new status as a doctor.

He raised his glass.

—Thank you, Ila, for your service. But this is goodbye.

For a moment, the world stopped. Humiliation burned in my chest like fire. Four years. Four years of my life, thrown away like a declined credit card.

His mother hid a smile behind her napkin. His father seemed to have known for a long time. Everyone knew—everyone, except me.

But instead of breaking down, instead of crying in front of my colleagues, I raised my glass, forced a smile so sharp it cut through the air, and said:

—To your success, Wyatt. Exactly as you deserve.

The silence was deafening.

I took a sip, put down the glass with trembling hands, and walked out with my head held high—heartbroken, but already plotting my revenge.