The argument over the hotel weekend and the "work/play separation" was the loudest, most painful fight we ever had. But I didn't leave. Not yet.
He was terrified when I started packing. He knew this was the end of his safety net.
He didn't beg on his knees this time; he pleaded with his future.
"Wait! Nina, please! That was a mistake! A huge, stupid mistake I regret. I was scared, I was under pressure at work, and I handled it badly. I need you. I need you to be the woman I come home to."
He pulled me back, not with lust, but with promises of a shared future that sounded solid, finally. He swore he would change. He swore the other woman was gone. He swore he would include me in his new, better life.
And I, the girl who still believed in the high school promise, gave in. I saw the promise of a future where we were finally rich and safe as worth the risk of one last chance.
And Anders started changing. He became successful in sales quickly. He was making real money. We moved out of the tiny, old place and into a much nicer, modern apartment. He started hanging out with his wealthy new co-workers and clients—the "cool guys" who dressed sharp, drove fast cars, and spoke about money all the time.
Anders was happier than I'd ever seen him. He was becoming the man he always wanted to be.
But as Anders rose, I worked harder than ever to catch up. I was determined to finish my degree with top honors and start a career that would make me independent. I had three part-time jobs and was writing my final thesis. I was studying late every night, working every weekend, sometimes sleeping only four hours. I was exhausted, but I was focused.
This focus was the new problem.
Anders' new life was full of parties, expensive trips, and endless socializing. He wanted me to be his beautiful, proud trophy on his arm. But I was tired. I was constantly declining invitations to dinners and clubs because I had a 5 a.m. shift or a paper due.
"You need to relax, Nina," he'd complain, running a hand through his expensive haircut. "We have money now. Why are you still running around like a tired mouse? Come out with me. Show them I'm with the most beautiful, smartest woman in the room."
I knew he loved showing me off, but my independence was more important than his pride. "I need to graduate, Anders. I'm building our foundation. If I stop now, all those years of struggle were for nothing."
He started going out without me. He always came back smelling of expensive cologne and different people. He would often pass out before I was done studying.
His new friends made everything worse. I would hear them talking on the phone when I was home.
"Man, you're the king of the city, why is your girl never around?" one of his loud friends, Mark, said one night while Anders was on speakerphone. "She acts like she's too good for us. You gotta manage your woman, bro."
Anders laughed it off, but I could hear the annoyance in his voice. "She's just focused on school. She'll come around."
The cycle of doubt started again. Only now, I didn't worry about his poverty; I worried about his success. The money didn't buy us peace; it just gave him more excuses and more opportunities to deceive.
One evening, I finally gave in. I put on the one nice dress I owned and met Anders at a high-end bar where he was celebrating a big work win. I was tired, but I forced a smile. I wanted to fight for him one last time.
As I walked in, I saw him across the room, surrounded by his loud, flashy friends. He was laughing, looking truly magnificent in his new suit. I felt a surge of pride and hope.
But then I saw the woman standing next to him. She wasn't one of the 'old' friends. She was tall, stylish, and laughing easily at something he whispered in her ear. She had a proprietary hand resting lightly on the expensive sleeve of his jacket.
As Anders looked up and saw me, his confident smile froze. I didn't need him to introduce her, or lie, or beg. The way her hand rested on him, the slight, dismissive look she gave me—the quiet, painful certainty hit me: I wasn't just his girlfriend; I was his second choice, his safety net, a chapter he was trying to close. I realized that the promise of a future we shared was just a lie, a cruel strategy to keep me silent while he enjoyed his new world.