I sat there for a full minute, phone still in my hand, before my coworker Denise asked if I was okay. I told her it was a family emergency and left without explaining. On the drive home, I kept expecting him to call back—to say he’d gone too far, that it was a mistake. He never did.
When I walked into the apartment, everything was exactly how he said it would be. The papers were neatly placed on the dining table beside a silver pen. Ryan stood by the kitchen island, dressed in a blazer he wore when he wanted to look important. A bottle of champagne sat chilling nearby.
“You really did it,” I said.
He smiled. “I told you. My uncle Theodore left everything to me. Houses, accounts, investments. I’m done pretending this marriage still works.”
Pretending.
That word hit harder than anything else.
For three years, I had helped keep us afloat—splitting rent, covering bills when his work fell through, even selling my grandmother’s bracelet once to keep us from falling behind. And now he looked at me like I was temporary.
I flipped through the documents. His lawyer had worked fast. Too fast.
“You planned this,” I said quietly.
“I prepared,” he replied. “That’s what smart people do.”
I studied him for a moment, then signed every page without arguing. His smile widened, like I had just proven him right.
I slid the papers back and said, “Enjoy your new fortune, Ryan.”
