My father-in-law slammed a $120 million check onto the table between us.

“No drama,” he added. “No scenes. Sign, take the money, and disappear.”

I didn’t argue.

I didn’t beg.

I didn’t cry.

I picked up the pen, signed my name with steady hands, folded the check neatly, and stood.

Julian didn’t stop me. My husband—no, ex-husband—sat frozen beside his father, eyes fixed on the table as if looking at me might crack something open inside him.