Inside the envelope was a stack of bank statements, letters, and medical records. At the very top rested a handwritten note from Troy. He explained that years before our divorce, doctors had discovered I carried a rare genetic condition that significantly increased my risk of developing a life-threatening illness. My insurance provider had refused to cover an expensive preventive treatment, and the appeals process could have taken far too long. Rather than tell me and force me to live with constant fear, Troy quietly arranged consultations with specialists and paid for every appointment using our savings. The hotel receipts I had mistaken for evidence of an affair all came from the city where those doctors practiced. He had never gone there to meet another woman. Every trip had been spent moving between hospitals, medical offices, law firms, and financial advisors, searching for every possible way to protect my future.