The night my husband forced me out, he smiled like he’d finally won. He didn’t realize that when I left, I was taking his entire life with me.
“Pack your things,” Daniel said.
I stared across the dining table. Behind him stood Vanessa, the woman he’d secretly married six months earlier. Wearing my emerald necklace, she smiled as though the house already belonged to her.
“You want me to leave?” I asked quietly.
Daniel sighed impatiently. “This is no longer your home. Vanessa is my wife now. She needs somewhere to live.”
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I nearly laughed.
I’d spent eleven years building that home. I paid the mortgage, managed our finances, handled Daniel’s business paperwork, and quietly saved his company twice when his poor decisions nearly ruined it.
