If Phil Gilbert didn't want to build a home with me, then he could go sleep under a bridge and live on cold air for all I cared.

I'd spent three days in the hospital, and not a single thing in the apartment had changed.

A sour ache spread through my chest as I dumped every flower I'd left drying on the balcony into the trash.

I'd been such a fool back then. Four years we'd known each other, and Phil had never once given me a flower, never once said anything sweet.

So when he suddenly walked in with a bouquet, how could it possibly have been a gift for me?

It could only have been something someone else didn't want, something he was too cheap to throw away.

A sneer pulled at my lips as I tore the couple's photo off the wall and ripped it to shreds.

The door creaked open. I turned on instinct and met Phil's eyes.

He had a takeout box in one hand, and his gaze kept skittering away from mine.

"Agnes, did you see the bank withdrawal notice?"

I nodded, but I had no desire to press him about it.

After all, according to my childhood friend, that girl liked to coo and push some can't-lose, get-rich-quick venture.

And somehow, inexplicably, she got people to sign predatory loan contracts.

Phil opened the takeout box and took my hand to pull me down beside him.

I slipped out of his grasp without making it obvious, keeping a careful distance between us.

The mingled smell of food filled the air, and my stomach turned, bile rising in my throat.

The logo on the box belonged to the five-star restaurant I went to most often, and I couldn't help finding it absurd.

Phil only ever splurged on me on payday, taking me to the little food stalls downstairs to eat our fill.

And even then, the bill had to stay under a hundred dollars.

Last month I'd suggested taking him out for sushi, and he'd balked at the price, dragging me through an entire evening of calculating how much three thousand dollars could buy.

In his eyes, every dollar I spent was a mistake.

And the photos Chloe had sent me showed that in these three days, Phil had spent nearly a million dollars on the girl named Winona Cooley.

He'd poured eight hundred and eighty thousand into that bottomless-pit venture, fifty thousand on a designer bag for her, and another hundred and ten thousand on hotels and dinners while he kept her company.

Three years married to him, and I'd barely spent a cent of his money. I'd even subsidized him.

My eyes stung. I turned my face away and wiped the tears.

Guilt flickered in Phil's eyes. He actually thought I was crying because I was touched.

He took my hand and swore up and down.

"Babe, that eight hundred and eighty thousand went into a friend's venture, and she promised me the final payout would be five times what I put in."

"Once I get that four point four million, we'll get a new place and throw the wedding we never had."

I scoffed and watched, silent, as Phil put on his little performance.

He'd never been willing to spend a dime on me before. The moment he actually had money, the first thing he'd do was dump me and go chase his "true love."

Sure enough, Phil pulled a set of divorce papers out of his bag.

He pressed his lips together and looked at me with all the sincerity he could fake.

"But babe, every investment carries risk. I don't want to drag you down with me."

"Let's divorce first. Once it all pays off, we'll remarry."

The memory of how Phil had proposed flashed through my mind.

He'd held up three fingers and sworn that even if he amounted to nothing his whole life, he would never leave me, never abandon me.

My eyes went red, tears falling like beads from a snapped string.

Phil shoved the divorce papers into my hands and urged me on.

"Babe, you'll just have to put up with this for a little while."

"The company's been cracking down lately, and that demotion out of nowhere, it was probably someone reporting our office romance."

"Divorcing now is better for both of us."

With trembling fingers I picked up the pen, a sneer curling my lips.

"Right. A divorce is better for both of us."

The moment Phil saw me sign without resistance, his face split into a grin.

He snapped a photo and sent it to Winona like he was reporting a job well done.

Chloe told me Phil had booked a wedding banquet at a hotel for the weekend.

He'd already bought the tickets for his parents, relatives, and friends, planning to formally introduce Winona to everyone.

Three years married, and his parents still didn't even know I existed.

Phil couldn't wait to give Winona Cooley a title. And I couldn't wait to watch him spin his own cocoon and trap himself inside it.

To keep up appearances, Phil volunteered to move out.

His phone chimed nonstop while he packed.

I caught a glimpse in the reflection of the glass: Winona's messages, explicit, a few private photos thrown in.

Phil practically bounced toward the door. He didn't even bother to say goodbye.

I watched him disappear down the hall, then called the secondhand dealer up to haul away the furniture.

After that, I canceled the bank card paying off his car loan.

Right after we got married, Phil had brought up wanting a car to get around in.

I knew he was broke, and I knew asking out loud would embarrass him.

So I just bought one and gave it to him on his birthday.

To keep him from getting suspicious, I even took out a loan to cover the payments.

But after he got that car, Phil never once gave me a ride.

He took his female coworkers out for joyrides, lent it to the guys so they could impress girls.

Everyone in the office had ridden shotgun in that car. Everyone but me.

The doorbell rang. The courier I'd booked had come for the pickup.

I slid the miscarriage report into an envelope and told him to deliver it that weekend, straight to the hotel where Phil was holding his wedding banquet.

I'd known about Phil's severe low sperm count since his pre-employment physical.

The real reason behind the miscarriage was him. His quality was poor.

The doctor's preliminary diagnosis: Phil would never have a child of his own. Not in this lifetime.

Three generations of Gilberts, every one of them an only son, and the line was about to die out.

I laughed until I cried. I smashed the $1.50 ceramic mugs he'd given me, shredded the couple's pajamas I'd worn for three years.

On my way out, I kicked over the little night-light in the living room.

Phil used to work late into the early hours, and every single time, I'd have soup simmering, waiting up for him in that living room.

Never again would I sit up all night by the stove, waiting for a man who didn't love me to come home.

I moved back into the mansion and had Chloe carry my files back to the CEO's office.

The next day at work, Phil was handing out wedding candy at his desk.

From all the way across the room, I could see the split skin on his lips and the bruising kiss marks blazing along his neck.

When he saw the executive elevator light up, he rushed over.

Chloe stepped in front of me and cut him off.

I turned my head away. I could feel Phil's gaze lingering on me, long.

Long enough that I thought he was about to recognize me, when he held out a wedding invitation and a packet of candy.

“Ms. Winfield, I'm getting married this weekend. I'd be honored if you'd come.”

I nudged Chloe. She caught it instantly and turned the question back on him.

“But I heard you were dating Agnes Winfield. How is it you're suddenly getting married?”

Phil shook his head frantically, terrified of being linked to me in any way.

“Agnes and I barely know each other. Please don't get the wrong idea.”

Chloe passed the invitation to me and pressed the close button.

“Fine. Ms. Winfield may stop by.”

I'd guessed Phil would distance himself from me. But hearing him deny it with my own ears still dropped me straight into ice.

The weekend came fast. I had Chloe drive me to the hotel where Phil's wedding was being held.

Phil stood at the entrance greeting guests, grinning so wide his mouth nearly split to his ears.

The moment he spotted me, he hurried over, all smiles, ushering me toward the VIP table and pouring out flattery.

Phil's parents sat with their backs straight, beaming as they boasted to the relatives.

“Our son married a tycoon's daughter, you know. Word is she brought him in on a deal. Once it wraps up, he'll clear five million.”

Every eye in the room lit up. They showered Phil and his parents with praise, begging them to help their own kids get a leg up too.

Phil was riding high, and he agreed to all of it without a second thought.

Chloe let out a contemptuous little scoff and leaned close to my ear, her voice dripping with mockery.

"He had a golden ticket right in his hands and threw it away, mistaking a glass bead for a pearl. Just wait. Once this wedding kicks off, he'll have plenty to cry about."

The bride appeared in an exquisite gown, one hand cradling her stomach as she leaned in to whisper something to Phil.

Then she gathered her skirts and walked away.

The stage lights flared to life. Phil stepped onto the red carpet, gripping the microphone as he welcomed the guests.

But he ran through every stalling line he could think of, and Winona still didn't appear.

Left with no choice, Phil pressed the remote in his hand and stumbled through some awkward filler.

"Now, please enjoy a short film of how the bride and I met."

The instant the big screen lit up, the entire room gasped as one.