From Rags to Riches: The Discarded Wife's Revenge

Sienna The interviewer's smile died mid-sentence. She'd been nodding along, talking about how impressed she was with my résumé, and how their clinic needed someone with my experience in sports rehabilitation, how soon could I start and then her phone buzzed. It happened in a blink of an eye, she glanced at it, excused herself and stepped out. When she came back, she wasn't the same person. "I'm sorry, the position has actually been filled." I didn't blink. "It was open two minutes ago." My heart was pounding. I needed this job more than anything. "I apologize for the confusion." She wouldn't look at me. "We'll keep your résumé on file." I wanted to ask who called but I already knew. The same person who'd made the last three interviews go cold. The same person who turned five years of professional connections into silence. I picked up my bag, thanked her for her time because my mother raised me right even when I wanted to throw a chair, and walked out of the clinic into a Tuesday afternoon that didn't care about me. The parking lot was mostly empty. I sat in my car and pulled up my bank account on my phone. My over a thousand dollars rent was due in eleven days. Eleven days and then I was either on my mother's couch in Brooklyn or on the street, and the distance between those two options was exactly one phone call I refused to make. I closed the app and stared at the steering wheel. Eight months ago I had a career, a house, a husband, and a last name I shared with someone. Now all I have is a seven-year-old Honda with a check engine light and a résumé that no one in this city would touch. I drove home to an apartment that was already empty because I had sold a few things to survive. The place had come furnished, which was lucky because I didn't own furniture anymore. No pictures on the walls because those were in the house he kept along with the savings and every professional connection I'd built over five years. No books on the shelves. The fridge had eggs, half a loaf of bread, and a bottle of hot sauce my mother had sent in a care package I didn't ask for. I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter and called her. She picked up on the first ring like she always does. "How'd it go?" "What do you think, Ma?" I sighed. She kept quiet for a while. "Same thing?" "Yes. Same thing." I struggled to keep my voice from cracking. I didn't want to increase her already high blood pressure. I could hear the restaurant behind her. She kept working even when I told her not to. Thank goodness she didn't because I don't know how I would have been able to feed two mouths in this condition. "That man took your whole life and you still won't let me do anything about it." "There's nothing to do, Ma." "There's plenty to do. Starting with you coming home to eat a meal that isn't eggs and sit with someone who actually likes you." "I'm fine." "You're not fine. But since you're so stubborn, I'll wait." That made me smile. She was the reason I hadn't considered something stupid. "I love you, Ma." "I know. Don't forget to eat something." She hung up. My phone rang again and I almost didn't answer because nothing good had come through that phone in months. But the number was local and I was eleven days from being broke so I picked it up. "Ms. Morretti? This is Dr. Okafor from the New York Icebreakers sports medicine department. We received your application." I sat up straighter by habit even though he couldn't see me. "We have an opening for a physiotherapist in our team clinic. Although it's entry-level." Entry-level. I had six years of experience and a specialization that most clinics would kill for. Eight months ago I was running my own patient load at one of the top sports rehab centers in the city. Then my ex-husband made one phone call to the director and by Friday I was clearing out my desk. "I'm interested," I said, because pride doesn't pay rent. "Can you come on Thursday?" "Yes, I'll be there. Thank you so much." I hung up and sat there for a minute. The New York Icebreakers. I knew the name just like anyone else in this city. Even people who didn't follow hockey knew the Icebreakers because of him. Dominic Ashford. Two-time MVP. Captain. Last season he led the league in points and made the cover of every sports magazine that existed. His endorsement deals alone were worth more than most people would earn in ten lifetimes. He was also, as of three weeks ago, the most hated man in America. I'd seen the clip just like everyone else. The shaky phone footage from the arena tunnel after a playoff win. A woman crying, followed by Ashford's voice, too low to make out, then the scream. The word she screamed spread so fast that by the time I saw it, it already had forty million views and his name was the top trend in every country that had internet. I didn't know if he did it, nor did I care. I wasn't applying to be his friend but to tape ankles and work on rotator cuffs then collect a paycheck that kept me off my mother's couch. I ironed my one good blouse, the black one that made me look like I had my life together, and set it on the back of the only chair in the apartment. I have just eleven days and one shot at a job that was beneath me in a building that belonged to a man the whole country wanted to bury. They say when life throws you lemons, you make lemonade right?