The man standing before me, seething with rage over another woman—I didn't recognize him anymore.

It took an illness to finally show me who I'd been sharing a bed with all these years.

"You ruined the whole mood," Simon snapped. He flagged down the server. "Check, please."

He turned to the group with a practiced smile. "We'll call it a night. I'll treat everyone again soon."

The server returned with the bill. Eighty thousand three hundred and ninety-one dollars.

Simon waved his hand dismissively and paid without blinking.

I almost laughed out loud.

No money to treat his wife's illness. Plenty to wine and dine his mistress.

Simon called a designated driver to take us home. The moment we stepped through the door, he said it.

"Jeanette, let's get divorced."

I paused. "You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

"Fine. Then let's discuss how we're splitting the assets."

"There's two hundred thousand left in savings. We each take a hundred. The house and Lowell Coleman stay with me. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

The audacity hit me like a slap.

"Simon, we've been married ten years. Our savings should be at least three million. And now there's only two hundred thousand left? Are you playing me for a fool?"

My voice rose. "And this house—you bought it with a mortgage. We've been paying it off together. Why should it all go to you? And Lowell is my son too. I'm not giving him up!"

"The savings really are down to two hundred thousand." He shrugged, utterly unbothered. "I forgot to mention—I invested in a small business. Lost it all."

"As for the house, sure, we've both been paying the mortgage. But the deed is in my parents' names. Nothing to do with you."

I slammed my palm on the table. "Simon! When we got married, you told me this house was yours!"

"It is mine. What, I can't put my own house under my parents' names?"

My chest burned. "So this is how you want to play it. Fine. Then I'm not signing anything. Let's see who outlasts who."

"Jeanette!" His face twisted. "How many years do you think you even have left? You don't divorce me, I'll just become a widower!"

I let out a cold laugh. "Then let's wait it out. See which one of us dies first."

Simon grabbed a teacup from the table and hurled it against the wall. Porcelain exploded across the floor.

"Marrying you was the worst decision of my life!"

He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the frame shook.

This time, I didn't care where he went.

I called my lawyer immediately. I needed to know everything—how to handle the divorce, how to investigate Simon's hidden assets, and most importantly, how to fight for custody of my son.

Lowell had heard everything. My eight-year-old was trembling in the corner, his small body shaking like a leaf.

"Mom," he whispered, "are you and Dad getting divorced?"

I pulled him into my arms and held him tight. "Sweetheart, if Mommy and Daddy split up... would you hate me?"

He shook his head against my chest. "It's not your fault. Daddy likes another lady now."

Then he pulled away and reached for something on his desk—the instant camera I'd bought him for his birthday.

"I took a picture," he said quietly. "Of Daddy kissing that lady."

I took the camera with unsteady hands. The photo was still inside.

Simon and Gretchen. In our living room. Lips locked.

My whole body started to shake.

That bastard. He'd brought her here. Into our home. With our son in the house.

And Lowell had seen everything.

"Mommy," Lowell's small voice continued, "I printed the photo, but Daddy took it and tore it up. He told me I wasn't allowed to tell anyone."

I carefully tucked the camera away.

This will be the evidence that ensures Simon leaves this marriage with nothing.

Three days passed. Simon didn't come home.

I didn't care where he was or who he was with. With his condition, if he didn't get treatment, he wouldn't be enjoying himself for much longer anyway.

Gretchen was the one who cracked first.

She started calling me constantly, spewing the vilest insults imaginable. I never said a word back.

I just hit record.

Then she escalated. Started showing up outside my apartment building. Outside my office. Screaming obscenities for anyone to hear.

I still didn't engage.

This evening, I was in the kitchen making dinner for Lowell when a frantic pounding erupted at the front door.

The moment I opened the door, Gretchen's fist connected with my temple.

The world tilted. Stars exploded behind my eyes, and my legs buckled. I hit the floor hard, my skull ringing like a struck bell.

"Stubborn bitch." Gretchen stood over me, shaking out her hand. "All that begging, all those insults, and you still won't sign? Fine. You want to do this the hard way? Let's do this the hard way."

Lowell shot out from behind me like a small, furious missile. "Don't hurt my mom!" He threw himself between us, fists raised. "You're a bad person! You're a bad, bad person!"

He lunged at her, sinking his teeth into her wrist.

She backhanded him across the room.

"Lowell!"

My son crumpled against the wall. And Simon—Simon just stood there beside her, watching. His face might as well have been carved from stone.

I scrambled to my feet. Gretchen's heel caught me square in the ribs, and I went down again.

Three men pushed past them into the apartment. Rough hands pinned my shoulders to the floor, ground my cheek against the cold tile.

"Here's how this works." Gretchen crouched down, her perfume cloying and sweet. "You sign the divorce papers, or you don't walk out of this room. Your choice."

The front door banged open again. My mother stood in the doorway, grocery bags slipping from her fingers, oranges rolling across the threshold.

"Simon?" Her voice cracked. "What is this? How could you—she's your wife!"

"Mom." Simon's tone was patient, almost gentle. "Why don't you talk some sense into Jeanette? Convince her to sign. We can all part on good terms."

"Good terms?" My mother stepped in front of me, her thin body shaking with fury. "You're not even human. I never should have let my daughter marry you!"

Gretchen's palm cracked across my mother's face.

"Know your place, old woman." She examined her manicure, bored. "You're just as pathetic as your daughter. Keep running that mouth, and you can stay here with her."

The red handprint bloomed across my mother's cheek. Something in my chest cracked open.

"Jeanette, don't you dare." Mom's voice was fierce despite the tremor. "This is a civilized society—they can't actually kill us. That agreement is robbery. Don't sign it!"

Gretchen's lips curled. "Not signing? Fine." She snapped her fingers at the thugs. "Work on the old lady. Beat her until she's begging her daughter to sign."

The men moved toward my mother.

"I'll sign!"

The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

Gretchen tossed the papers at my face. "Should've just done that from the start."

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. The pen slipped twice before I managed to scrawl my name on the dotted line.

The moment I finished, identical smiles spread across their faces—Gretchen's triumphant, Simon's satisfied.

"Three days." Simon tucked the agreement into his jacket. "I want you out of this apartment in three days."

He grabbed Lowell's arm and yanked him toward the door. "Come on, son. Let's go get dinner."

Lowell thrashed against his grip. "No! I want to stay with Mom! I'm not going!"

"Daddy's going to get you a new mommy. Younger. Prettier." Simon's voice hardened. "Keep throwing tantrums, and Daddy's going to get angry."

His hand rose.

"Lowell!" I forced the words out, forced them to sound calm. "Listen to your father. I'll come get you in a few days, okay? I promise."

My son's eyes—so much older than eight—met mine as Simon dragged him out the door.

The moment they were gone, my mother crumpled.

"My poor girl." She pulled me into her arms, rocking us both. "Why does your life have to be so hard?"

I held her tight. "Mom." My voice was steady now. Cold. "The game's just getting started."

Before today, I'd only wanted what was fair. The assets I was owed. A clean break.

After today?

I wanted Simon Simmons and Gretchen Butler to burn.

One month later, I stood in the County Clerk's Office, waiting to finalize the divorce.

Simon wasn't alone. Gretchen clung to his arm like a designer accessory.

"Let me guess." I kept my voice flat. "Divorce certificate first, marriage license second?"

Gretchen lifted her chin. "Got a problem with that?"

I said nothing.

I signed where they told me to sign. Watched the clerk stamp the divorce decree. Then I stood in the corner and watched them pose for their wedding photo, Gretchen's smile sharp enough to cut glass.

They found me on their way out.

"I know you're not over this," Gretchen cooed, leaning into Simon's side. "But really, what choice did he have? With your... condition."

She tilted her head, mock sympathy dripping from every word.

"Simon never wanted to leave you, you know. But your illness—it's just too much to ask anyone to deal with."

Her smile widened.

"Honestly? If my partner got diagnosed with ALS, I'd want to die too."

Before she could finish, Simon collapsed.