"I personally borrowed five hundred thousand dollars. I endured over a thousand days and nights of grinding, and we finally made it last year."

"After all that suffering together, how dare you claim you built this alone?"

The evidence was overwhelming.

I had the loan documents from when I'd borrowed the money.

I had photos of us celebrating birthdays in that cramped, run-down room during the early days.

Every trace of our struggle to build this business from nothing—how could any of it be erased?

Ray drew a deep breath. "I can give you something. But not much. A hundred thousand."

A fortune worth tens of millions, and he was offering me a hundred thousand.

My vision blurred. Not from tears.

From the aftershock of loving a man I'd never truly known.

It took me a long moment to steady myself enough to speak normally. "There has to be a reason. Give me a reason for the hundred thousand."

Ray inhaled and spoke as if stating something perfectly reasonable: "She's pregnant. She's carrying my child. And you—you can't have children."

That reason nearly knocked me off my feet.

So that was it.

"But being unable to have children—is that really a reason?"

"There are so many medical options now. Having a baby isn't impossible. So why are you saying I can't?"

I laughed, mocking him.

And as I laughed, it suddenly clicked.

"You never loved me. Ruth is the one you've always wanted, isn't she? Once you had money, you went running back to your first choice to have children with her."

"But have you forgotten how she used to treat you? Do you have Stockholm syndrome?"

In my memory, Ruth Newton had tormented Ray more times than I could count.

Before we'd built ourselves up from nothing, that woman had made his life hell.

She'd forced him to eat slop meant for pigs. Made him kneel before her.

On our wedding day, she'd shown up at the venue and set a fire.

Our ceremony had only made it halfway through.

After all that suffering, Ray—and his entire family—were now protecting this woman. I couldn't wrap my head around it.

When I exposed the truth, Ray scrambled to cover it up.

"That's all in the past. Why bring it up now?"

The elder Dickersons didn't seem to mind either.

Of course not. After all, she was pregnant now.

I lifted my chin, forcing the tears back.

"Ray, you've loved her for years. Now that you're rich and she's carrying your child, you brought her back."

"You got your parents to accept her. All of you, letting bygones be bygones. How pathetic can you be?"

A slap cracked across my face.

I stumbled, barely catching myself.

The burning sting on my cheek deepened my despair—but it also hardened something inside me.

"Marital assets. I'm still entitled to an equal split."

"Ray, don't push this too far. I've agreed to the divorce. But if you think I'm walking away with nothing—"

I swept my gaze around the room.

My voice came out iron-hard: "If you force me to leave empty-handed, I'll die right here."

I'd never been one to make scenes or throw tantrums.

If they hadn't pushed me this far, I would have kept my dignity intact.

But leaving with nothing? That was the one thing I couldn't accept. My parents were in poor health, dependent on expensive medications.

Ray's eyes went bloodshot at my words.

"It's not leaving with nothing. I'm giving you a hundred thousand."

"That's all you're getting. If we're talking about building this from scratch, I'm the one who did the real work."

I stared at him, stunned.

He was comparing labor with me?

We were in the renovation business.

When we first started the company, we'd gone to clients' homes ourselves—measuring rooms, plastering walls, hauling heavy materials.

Sure, he was stronger. He'd done more of the physical work.

But I'd handled everything else. Running to the market at dawn, cooking every meal, keeping us fed and functioning.

And now, today, it had become his hard work that mattered—implying I'd contributed nothing.

My voice tore out of me: "Ray, you're disgusting."

Ray waved his hand, already done with me. "Mom, Dad—throw her out. Lock the door behind her."

The old couple immediately closed in on me, their hostility palpable.

The old man yanked open the front door. Bitter wind sliced through the entryway.

His wife didn't miss a beat. "Out you go. You're not welcome here."

"Mom, that down jacket you're wearing—I bought it for you. Seven or eight hundred dollars."

Her gaze dropped for just a second before she shot back, "That was my son's money."

Ruth's voice came from behind her, soft and deliberate. "Don't worry. I'll buy you things too. Better things. More expensive."

The old woman's face split into a triumphant smile.

"You heard her. Now get out. I have a daughter-in-law—a real one—and she's about to give me a grandson."

When I didn't move, she shoved me. Hard.

Farm people have strong hands. And hers held nothing back.

I couldn't brace against the force. My feet skidded toward the doorway, one stumbling step after another.

Five years of marriage. And this was how it ended—on the eve of the new year.

My eyes found Ray over his mother's shoulder.

"Ray. Tell me. When did you fall for her?"

Ruth answered instead, her voice dripping with gentle poison. "I'll admit, I gave him a hard time back then. But do you know why?"

I held my breath.

"Because he wrote me ninety-nine love letters. Kept sending them, one after another. I just wasn't ready for a relationship yet."

The past I thought I knew crumbled to ash.

My body began to shake. For ten, maybe fifteen seconds, my mind went completely blank.

So that was it. He'd been writing love letters to Ruth.

While I comforted him through his "heartbreak."

What a fool I'd been.

While I stood there reeling, the old woman shoved me again—harder this time.

I stumbled backward onto the front steps and slid several feet across the icy ground.

Snow drifted down in silence, broken only by the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place.

I picked myself up, brushing snow from my clothes, my dignity in tatters.

At least I still had my car.

I turned on the heater, but the windshield was a blur of white, and the tires spun uselessly on the ice.

No driving tonight. I'd have to make do here.

The gifts I'd brought—all food and drinks—sat untouched in the backseat. At least I wouldn't go hungry.

My heart burned with injustice. But I'd be damned if I didn't take care of myself.

Once I'd eaten my fill, I pulled out my phone.

Almost without thinking, I messaged an old friend I hadn't spoken to in ages.

"You went to school with Ruth Newton, right? Do you remember her?"

The reply came fast: "Ruth Newton is still ALIVE? She didn't die?"

I blinked at the screen. "She's alive. Perfectly fine, as far as I can tell."

The typing indicator pulsed for three full minutes before her response appeared.

"Why are you asking about her?"

Her tone had shifted—serious now. I matched it.

"She's at my house. Planning to spend New Year's with my family."

What followed was an avalanche. Over a dozen voice messages, each one maxed out at sixty seconds.

My stomach dropped. Harper Collins was known for being flighty, never using ten words when two would do. Something was very wrong.

Her voice poured through the speaker, urgent and unrelenting.

"Get her out of there. She has an infectious disease. A serious one."

"With what she has, a common cold could kill her. She's been carrying it for three years—I was there when she got diagnosed at our hospital."

"How could you let her into your home? Are you out of your mind?"

"..."

More messages followed—documents, medical files, detailed records.

But no matter how much she sent, three words burned brightest.

Infectious disease.

A serious one.

I typed back: "Can she still get pregnant?"

The answer came immediately: "Then you're all screwed. It transmits from mother to child. No cure. Ever."

I stared at the files filling my screen.

For a long moment, I couldn't speak. Couldn't decide if this was tragedy or justice.

One thing was clear: based on everything I'd seen that day, Ray and his family had no idea.

A gust of cold wind slashed across my face, and I shuddered—my mind snapping awake.

I threw open the car door and ran back to the Dickersons' house, pounding on the door like a madwoman.

It cracked open just a sliver. "What do you want?"

Rachel's face filled the gap.

I looked past her, my eyes locking onto Ray as he comforted Ruth, stroking her hair.

My voice rang out, sharp and clear: "Ray."

He glanced over, irritation flickering in his gaze—a look so cold it chilled me to the bone.

But the past was smoke. From this moment on, I would carry no more longing.

I swallowed every emotion and said the words I never thought I'd say: "Let's get a divorce."