‘Go ahead,’ my rich husband said. ‘I’ll give you a week without me.’ I put the keys on the counter and walked out with just my phone, leaving him to believe I’d come back begging. The next morning, his father and his boss were banging on the door: ‘The bank just called, what have you done?!’

“Yes.”

He laughed—actually laughed.

“Go ahead. Leave. I give you a week without me, maybe less. Where are you going to go, Naomi? What are you going to do? You haven’t worked in years. You’ve been living off my money in my house, driving my cars.”

Naomi said nothing. She just pulled her phone from her purse and checked the time.

11:47 p.m.

In thirteen minutes, it would be a new day. A new beginning.

“You think you can make it out there alone?” Donovan continued, pushing off the counter and walking toward her. “You think anyone is going to hire a woman who hasn’t practiced law in eight years? You think you can afford an apartment in this city on your own?”

Naomi looked at him—then really looked at him.

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