“I’m your wife,” I said. “I cared for your father because I loved him—and because I loved you.”
“And I appreciate that,” he replied, pulling out a check and tossing it at my feet. “Ten thousand dollars. Payment for services. Take it and leave. I want you gone before my lawyer arrives. I’m renovating everything. The house smells old… and like you.”
I tried to reason with him. I reminded him of ten years together. It didn’t matter.
Security arrived. I was escorted out into the rain while Curtis watched from the upstairs balcony, finishing his champagne.
That night, I slept in my car in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour grocery store. I felt shattered—humiliated, disposable, erased. Had I spent ten years loving a stranger? The man I believed in never existed. Only a predator waiting for the right moment.
