He Gave My Father's Lifeline to His Mistress

Four years after my father died, my husband transferred $400,000 into my account out of nowhere.

He watched my face and gave a resigned little smile.

"Money-grubber. That four hundred grand was your dad's surgery fund. I'm returning it today."

He saw my confusion.

He sighed.

"There's something I lied to you about. The surgery money wasn't stolen by phone scammers."

"Bess was diagnosed with liver cirrhosis at the same time. I gave her the money for a liver transplant."

I went completely still.

Bess Hughes—his former student. The one he'd been emotionally unfaithful with.

He sighed again.

"Dad was old. Even if the surgery worked, he didn't have long. But Bess is young, she's a graduate researcher, the kind of talent this country needs. Using his life to save hers—that's building good karma for him."

Everything inside me went cold.

The bank card in my hand was ice-cold, but it burned like the blood that had sprayed from my father's mouth that day.

……

A sharp crack.

My vision went red and I slapped Jarvis across the face.

"Do you hear yourself? You think a human life can be measured by its value? That was my father. He was YOUR father too!"

"He was the only one who stood up for you when you were trapped in that academic scandal! The only one who fought to clear your name!"

"And you gave his surgery money to the student who accused you of sexual harassment? Jarvis, do you even have a heart?"

A flicker of impatience cut through his guilt.

"Yes, but she was desperate back then. Nowhere to turn, people whispering in her ear. She didn't do it on purpose."

"Can you stop dragging up the past every single day? I've always been grateful for what Dad did for me, but honestly, even without his help, it was only a matter of time before I was cleared. Stop bringing it up over and over, okay? Keep pushing it and sympathy turns into disgust."

My legs went soft. I stared at him in disbelief.

Sympathy… into disgust?

My father had spent his entire career never bowing to anyone. A proud, principled old professor. And to save Jarvis, he'd pulled every string he could find, drunk himself sick at banquet after banquet, landed in the hospital twice.

Everything that once made Jarvis sick with guilt and regret now rolled off him like it was nothing.

He saw the color drain from my face and softened his tone.

"Okay, I shouldn't have said that. But honey, what's done is done. I only told you because I didn't want that on my conscience anymore, didn't want to feel guilty facing you every day. Dad's gone. Let's just move on."

But he was the one who'd knelt at my father's grave and sworn to God he would never betray his teaching, never waste his help and mentorship, that he would love me and take care of me for the rest of his life.

Then he'd taken my father's last chance at survival and spent it saving the woman he cheated with.

I was about to speak when his phone rang.

Bess.

"Professor Swanson, there's a problem with the experiment. Can you come look at it? Please?"

"Sure. Hang tight, I'm on my way."

He forgot I was standing right there. Grabbed his jacket and turned to leave.

I stepped in front of him.

"In your eyes, my father's death doesn't even matter as much as one of her research reports? Do you know how many times I had to convince myself you didn't lose that money on purpose? Do you?!"

He ignored me completely. Sighed, pulled a tissue from the box, held it out.

"I gave you the money back. People have to look forward. Don't let something that's already gone ruin what we have now, okay?"

He shook my hand off and walked out.

So in his mind, giving the money back meant none of it ever happened.

And my father?

Who could give my father back?

My legs couldn't hold me anymore. I collapsed onto the couch.