Being biased towards first love, I’ll give you a bankruptcy gift package
The NASA awards ceremony. My husband, John, handed the award that should have been mine to his newly returned first love, Sarah. In front of everyone, he accused me of plagiarism and revoked my promotion. Everyone expected a dramatic outburst, a tearful denial. Instead, I smiled faintly and personally pinned the badge onto Sarah’s chest. “A new position calls for a celebration, right? How about a wedding? I’ll be
your officiant.” They didn’t know the rocket
blueprints were mine and mine alone. The entire
project’s funding rested on my reputation. I
wanted to see if Sarah was a brilliant aerospace
engineer fresh from her studies abroad, or just
a pretty face with nothing to back it up.
The room erupted. I, Amelia, was the lead
designer on the new rocket project. I’d
practically lived at the lab for the past year, a
workaholic in everyone’s eyes. And now, all the
credit went to a newcomer.
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John, standing on stage, turned a shade of purple. “Amelia, what the hell do you mean?” “If there’s someone better suited for the job,” I said, my voice calm and steady, “I should step aside, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t want to hold back real talent.” John had insisted we keep our marriage secret to avoid any appearance of favoritism on the project. He promised to announce it at the year–end ceremony, once the new rocket design was officially adopted. This was the surprise he had waiting for me. Watching him tear me down to build Sarah up was agonizing. A wave of nausea rolled over me. I didn’t bother explaining. I turned and walked out. This project wouldn’t have even gotten off the ground without my relentless networking and sleepless nights refining the proposals. All my hard work, dismissed as
“plagiarism.” Why stay?
Sarah, with her fancy European degree, thought
she could waltz in and take over. She had no
idea how this industry worked, how crucial
connections were. She couldn’t even produce a
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(Intel) CORE 17 Hryside
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basic schematic. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. I’d be watching to see how that crown crushed her.
Down in the parking garage, the cool air felt good against my burning cheeks. As I reached for my car door, I caught sight of the plain silver band on my ring finger. We weren’t rich when we got married. No diamonds, just simple bands from a jewelry store. I’d never taken it off. It was a symbol of the life we built together. But now? What was the point?
As I slipped the ring off, a red sports car
screeched to a halt beside me. Sarah’s face, framed by the lowered window, was a mask of smug triumph. She noticed the ring in my hand. The mockery in her eyes intensified. “Don’t worry, Amelia. I’ll take good care of the team and make sure we reach new heights. You’ve set the bar high.” She tossed a scratched–up ring into my lap. “Oh, and John messed up his ring opening a package the other day. Maybe you can get it fixed.” Her smile was pure
