"Claude Delgado, do you dare say you were really doing this for our family?!"

"If you were doing it for our family, would you have abandoned me over and over again?"

Claude stared at me in disbelief, his mouth hanging open, unable to form a single word.

Claude and I had been classmates in college. He was handsome, top of his class, charming, talented — the center of everyone's attention.

That he chose me out of all the girls vying for him was something I never expected.

Everyone said I'd hit the jackpot, that I was the luckiest girl alive to have caught Claude Delgado's eye.

Even I believed that.

I'd asked him more than once why he picked me. He always smiled and said, "Because you're good."

"I can tell — you genuinely care about me."

For four years, I gave Claude everything he asked for and never dared ask for too much in return.

When we got married, his family's demands were steep, but my parents and I did our best to meet every one of them.

Marrying him was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to me.

But everything changed three years ago, when Claude got laid off.

"Marlene, what if I came to work at your company?"

"We could commute together, and then we could really focus on trying for a baby."

To get Claude a position, I spent weeks drinking with my supervisor after hours, pushing myself until I nearly ended up hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer.

I finally secured him a spot — team lead in the sales department.

"Most of the client work is handled by Ms. Vance herself, so you won't be too busy. It's a pretty easy gig."

At first, Claude really wasn't busy.

We exercised together to prepare for conception, drank herbal supplements together to get our bodies in shape.

But it wasn't long before I discovered the drinking.

One night, he stumbled through the door reeking of alcohol. Again.

"Claude, no smoking and no drinking while we're trying to conceive — weren't those your rules?"

I swallowed my frustration and tried to talk to him calmly.

"When Ms. Vance pours you a drink, you don't say no."

"Marlene, stop making something out of nothing. I never said I didn't want a kid."

His cold indifference cut through me.

Sure enough, a few days later his test results came back: critically low sperm motility.

Starting from the year before last, Claude was out with Rita every single day.

They never bothered to keep up appearances in front of anyone. Everything that happened at those dinner tables made its way through the office word for word.

"Marlene, your husband..."

Even my supervisor had hinted at it more than once. But I chose to believe Claude.

Ten years together. I refused to believe he would do something like that to me.

So I kept making excuses for him, covering for him.

But the more it happened, the colder my heart grew.

"Marley, this one's on me."

"I had no idea Claude was trying for a baby. If I'd known, I never would have let him sit at the table."

To show her remorse, Rita handed Claude a check for ten thousand dollars on the spot.

I pressed my lips together and said nothing.

"Marley, I'm sorry."

"I really didn't know it would turn out like this."

I looked up at him, perfectly calm. "Claude, can you please stop drinking?"

Claude pulled me into his arms. "Marlene, I'll be more careful from now on."

He said I'll be more careful. Not I'll stop.

Looking back, that was when I should have known. Claude had already started crossing lines in his mind.

After that, the subject of children became something neither of us dared to touch.

"Marlene, you think I don't want kids?"

"If I didn't want them, why would I have gone through IVF with you?!"

That actually made me laugh.

"Claude, name one time you showed up."

"Every single time, you either said something came up or you'd leave the moment your number was called."

IVF had been Claude's idea. He said he wanted the most efficient path to pregnancy.

But after that first consultation where he paid the fee, he never showed up again. Not once.

If he hadn't brought it up, I would've almost forgotten.

"So now you're dredging up ancient history?!"

"Fine! You want a divorce? You got one!"

Claude's face went rigid, anger burning behind his eyes. He flung his arm as he turned to leave, and his watch clattered to the floor.

That watch. I recognized it.

A gift from Rita. A reward, she'd called it, for helping close a deal.

Over the years, Rita had given him plenty of these so-called bonuses. Designer things, luxury brands I'd never even heard of before.

Claude loved every single one of them. I, on the other hand, felt a twist in my stomach each time I saw something new.

Every argument ended the same way: unresolved, dissolving into nothing.

Claude shot me one cold look, bent down to pick up the bracelet from the floor. "Don't come crawling back to me, Marlene."

The door slammed so hard the windows rattled.

I stared at that door, and it felt like someone had wrapped plastic around my lungs. I couldn't breathe.

I drew in a long, shaky breath, walked out to the balcony, and made a phone call.

"I need you to draft a divorce agreement for me."

"Yeah. I'm getting divorced."

"How's your brother's apartment search going? I could sell him mine at a discount."

"I accepted the overseas offer. I leave next week."

Silence on the other end. Then, after a long pause, a sigh.

"You and Claude... how did it get this bad?"

The words carried genuine regret. A few more concerned questions, and the call ended.

How, indeed.

Ten years together. Even I couldn't pinpoint the moment we'd gone so wrong.

If Rita had been an invisible splinter, a dull ache I could never quite locate, then Claude's secret vasectomy was a knife laid open against my flesh.

The next day, I went to the office and completed my exit paperwork.

My supervisor watched me with a look of pride, and though there was reluctance in her eyes, there was more warmth than sadness.

Over the following days, Claude didn't come home.

Which suited me fine. I hired movers and started packing.

"Ma'am, these are all high-end items. We're not comfortable wrapping them ourselves. Would you rather handle these?"

One of the movers wiped the sweat from his forehead and gestured toward Claude's walk-in closet: rows of limited-edition bags, designer clothes, watches lined up like trophies.

Starting around last year, Rita had begun buying Claude things constantly, always under the guise of work.

Most of it was expensive. Obscenely so.

That was what had started the rumors at the company.

I'd brought it up with Claude before. Told him it didn't look right.

At first, he'd still bother explaining. "It's nothing. Ms. Vance just wants me to look the part for client meetings."

"Marlene, stop overthinking."

But the gifts kept multiplying, and eventually, I stopped asking.

Sometimes, people are too afraid to get close to the truth.

My cowardice, in the end, was laid bare the moment the truth surfaced anyway.

"It's fine. Wrap them however you want. You won't be held responsible."

I waved them off, went back to the bedroom, and finished packing my own things. Then I handed the moving company Rita's home address.

"Next week, deliver all of that to this address. When you arrive, call this number."

Claude was at Rita's place. I knew because of a location tag on social media.

Thanks, boss, for giving me the time off.

The tag pointed to an upscale residential complex. Rita's second home.

I'd been there once. Claude had gotten blackout drunk, and Rita had called me to come pick him up.

Claude had posted quite a few updates after that. Eventually, I muted him. I didn't read a single one.

The truth was, those office rumors had always been a thorn buried in my chest.

But I knew Claude wouldn't dare. After all, Rita was married.

His secret vasectomy, though, changed everything.

Usually, by the time a kid says they need to pee, they've already wet their pants.

The moment that thought surfaced, I knew it was over between Claude and me.

I went back to the office to finish my resignation paperwork, then stopped by to sign the papers.

"Did you guys hear? Ms. Vance and her husband are getting a divorce..."

"Aren't they always threatening divorce? With that much money tying them together, it's never going to happen. It's all talk."

"This time it's different. Apparently Ms. Vance is the one pushing for it."

"Wait, seriously? Over Claude Delgado?"

"Keep your voice down..."

I stood in the far corner of the elevator, listening to the whispers swirl around me. My heart was strangely calm.

The moment I'd signed that divorce agreement, I'd cut Claude out of my life.

"Hi, could you pass this document along to Claude Delgado for me?"

Claude's coworker looked up in surprise. When she saw it was me, she gave an awkward nod.

I didn't think much of it. I turned and walked away.

I didn't expect to run into Claude and Rita right there by the elevators.

Claude spotted me and let out a reflexive scoff. "Finally realized you were wrong?"

"Don't think showing up to apologize means I'll forgive you."

Rita smiled and patted my shoulder. "Marley, go make up with your husband. A woman really shouldn't be so headstrong..."

I didn't let her finish. I stepped aside to dodge her hand.

"Excuse me. Coming through."

I walked into the elevator and pressed the close button right in front of Claude's face.

"Marlene, you—"

Whatever he was going to say stayed on the other side of the doors.

For some reason, Claude felt a flicker of unease.

"Mr. Delgado, Marlene Pruitt left this document for you just now."

Claude took it without thinking and flipped it open. The words DIVORCE AGREEMENT across the top stopped him cold.

He spun around, disbelief twisting into fury, and stormed toward the design department.

He asked everyone. They all said they hadn't seen me in days.

It wasn't until he barged into the supervisor's office that he got his answer. The supervisor barely glanced up. "Marlene Pruitt resigned."

"You didn't know?"

The flat, indifferent tone said everything.

Claude stood there like someone had ripped the spine right out of him. He couldn't move.

He pulled out his phone and dialed my speed-dial number over and over. No one picked up.

I was on the bullet train heading home. The company group chat I hadn't had time to leave was blowing up, message after message flooding in.

Someone posted a video to the group chat.

The signal on the train was spotty, so I didn't open it. The thumbnail showed Claude from behind, looking absolutely wrecked.

Ms. Vance's husband showed up at the hospital. The cops came!

Where's Marlene?