My Boyfriend Bought His Mistress Gifts With My Money

The email came at 7:43 a.m.

Neriah was still in bed when her phone buzzed. She reached for it without opening her eyes. Probably a reminder about some assignment. Maybe a notification from Emerson. She blinked at the screen.

Subject: SCHOLARSHIP STATUS UPDATE — ACTION REQUIRED.

She sat up.

Dear Ms. Clark,

We regret to inform you that your current scholarship funding has been discontinued due to cessation of donor support, effective immediately. Per university policy Section 4.7.2, donor-initiated funding terminations are not subject to appeal or review. Your student account will reflect updated balances within 24 hours. Please contact the Bursar's Office to discuss payment arrangements for the current semester.

Sincerely,

Office of Financial Aid

Neriah read it twice. Then a third time. The words didn't change.

She threw off the blanket and called Emerson. He picked up on the fourth ring, voice thick with sleep.

"What—"

"They cut my scholarship."

A pause. "What?"

"My scholarship. It's gone. The email says the donor pulled out. Effective immediately. No appeal."

"That doesn't make sense." He sounded more awake now. "Scholarships don't just disappear. There's always a process. Forms. Warnings."

"Well, mine just disappeared." Her voice cracked. She hated that. "Emerson, I can't afford tuition without it. I can't even afford to stay in the dorm. What am I supposed to do?"

"Okay. Okay. Let me think." She heard him moving around. "It's probably a mistake. Some bureaucratic thing. I'll go talk to someone. I'll handle it."

"You'll handle it?"

"Yeah. I know people in the admin building. I'll figure out what happened."

She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. "Okay."

"Don't worry. I'll call you later."

He hung up.

Neriah sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the new iPhone on her nightstand. The one Emerson had given her last week. The one she had posted about. The one that cost more than her monthly food budget.

She picked it up and opened Instagram. The post was still there. Her on the bed, laughing, holding the box. Emerson's comment underneath: "Only the best for you."

She deleted it.

---

Emerson arrived at Aurelia's building just after noon. He had rehearsed the whole thing on the drive over. Concerned. Confused. A little frustrated on behalf of someone who couldn't advocate for themselves. He would ask Aurelia if she knew anything — her father was the chairman, after all. Maybe she could make a call. Pull a string. Fix it.

He used his key. The apartment was quiet. Aurelia was in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a white mug. She was dressed for work already. Blazer. Pressed slacks. Hair pinned back.

She looked up when he came in. She didn't smile.

"We need to talk," he said.

She set the coffee pot down. "Okay."

"A friend of mine just got her scholarship pulled. No warning. No explanation. Just an email this morning saying the donor backed out." He crossed his arms. "It doesn't make sense. She's a good student. She needs that money. I thought maybe you could ask your dad what happened. Maybe there's been some kind of mistake."

Aurelia sipped her coffee. She didn't answer right away.

"Her name is Neriah Clark," he added. "She's a junior. Studying—"

"I know who she is."

He stopped.

Aurelia set the mug down on the counter. "I know her GPA. Her major. Her mother's employment history. I know the exact amount of her scholarship per semester. Four thousand, eight hundred dollars. I know because I'm the one who funded it."

Emerson's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"I also know," Aurelia continued, her voice perfectly level, "that last Tuesday at 6:14 p.m., I sent you four hundred and eighty dollars for textbooks. And at 6:54 p.m., you walked into an Apple Store and put that money down on a twelve-hundred-dollar iPhone. For Neriah. The receipt synced to your cloud account. The one you never learned to lock."

His face went white.

"I know about the Live Photo you posted. The one on my sheets. I know about the coffee shop tags and the parking lot and the bench outside the chapel." She picked up her mug again. "I know everything, Emerson. I have known since midnight. So let's not waste time pretending you came here to help a friend."

He took a step forward. "Aurelia, I—"

"Your things will be on the curb by six," she said. "I suggest you arrange transportation."

"Wait. Please. Just listen—"

She walked past him toward the door. She opened it. She stood beside it and waited.

Emerson stared at her. Then he reached for her hand.

She stepped back.

"Goodbye, Emerson."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he walked out.

Aurelia closed the door. She locked it. She smoothed her blazer.

Then she finished her coffee.

---

Emerson came back at 6:15 p.m.

His boxes were stacked neatly on the sidewalk outside the building. Four of them. Clothes. Books. The gaming console he had left in her living room. The electric toothbrush from her bathroom. Everything.

On top of the first box was a handwritten note on heavy cardstock.

"Uber's on you this time."

He stood there with his phone in his hand. His bank account had sixty-three dollars in it. An Uber big enough to carry four boxes would cost forty.

He looked up at the building. Her apartment was on the thirty-second floor. The lights were on.

He looked back at the boxes.

Then he sat down on the curb and put his head in his hands.