My husband had no idea my annual income was $2.7 million when he screamed at me, “Hey, you sick bitch! I’ve already filed the divorce papers. Get out of my house tomorrow!”

“Is there… any chance you stop this?” he whispered.

I thought about Sophie and Evan, about what children learn from watching adults. Love isn’t a speech. It’s a boundary.

“No,” I said. “But I’ll be fair.”

He sniffed. “Fair?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You’ll receive what the law allows. Not what you demand.”

I ended the call.

Naomi released a breath. “You handled that well.”

I stood, walked to the window, and watched the city continue on—cars moving, lights blinking, life indifferent to his collapse.

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