‘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?!’

She’d once thought he was handsome. Now she saw the cruelty in his eyes, the arrogance in his stance. She saw the man who’d been sleeping with Simone Clark from his accounting department for the past three years. The man who’d taken Simone out to expensive dinners while Naomi waited at home. The man who’d given her jewelry that Naomi had helped pay for through her own family inheritance.

“I’ll manage,” she said quietly.

“You’ll manage.” He mimicked her tone, then shook his head. “You’ll come crawling back. They always do. Women like you—you’re not built for the real world. You’re built for this.”

He gestured around the kitchen: the custom cabinets, the professional-grade appliances, the chandelier in the dining room visible through the doorway.

Naomi picked up her suitcase. She’d packed light—one bag with clothes, toiletries, important documents. Everything else—all the designer clothes, expensive shoes, and jewelry he’d bought her—she was leaving behind.

She didn’t want any of it.

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