My doctor reviewed the new images and smiled. “This is excellent progress.”

I smiled back. “So the treatment is finally working?”

“The medication has certainly helped,” he said. “So has the rest.” After a brief pause, he added, “And I suspect removing one major source of stress played a role too.”

He was right. By then the divorce was nearly final. Gordon had rented a small apartment, and Rita moved in with him for a while, though I later heard the arrangement didn’t last.

Without my income supporting them both, their relationship changed quickly; they’d been united mostly by the assumption that I would solve every financial problem, and without me they had only each other to blame.

I never celebrated their struggles. I chose not to rescue them. That difference mattered.