It was the look in his eyes when the debt collectors were about to chop off his hand, and I knelt on the ground crying, kowtowing until blood ran down my face, pawning the only keepsake my mother ever left me to buy him a way out.

I had done so much for him. Yet in the end, none of it mattered as much as a single tear from his new lover.

It felt like a blunt knife being driven into my heart, over and over again.

I propped myself upright and looked at the two of them wrapped in that tender little tableau. A bitter laugh escaped me.

"Should I be grateful to him? Grateful that for your sake, he terminated my full-term baby, secretly had my uterus removed, nearly killed me, and still graciously stayed by my bedside to wait for me to wake up?"

Beryl's tears fell like a broken string of pearls. She glared at me, stubborn defiance blazing through the wetness.

"Fine, it's all my fault! I'm the one who ruined you! Let me atone for it, then!"

She shoved Dennis away like a woman possessed, snatched the fruit knife from my bedside table, and drove it toward her own stomach.

"I'll cut my baby and my uterus out right now to make it up to you! Is that enough?!"

Dennis locked his arms around her, one hand clamping the blade. Blood streamed through his fingers. He lifted his head and fixed me with a stare so cold it could freeze bone.

"Veronica. Are you satisfied now?"

He scooped Beryl up, cradling her limp body against his chest, and walked out without a backward glance. Only one sentence trailed behind him:

"Clearly I've been too good to you. Made you think you could do whatever you pleased. Fine. Then suffer."

I watched his retreating figure, smiling as the tears rolled down.

The man who once swore he would spoil me for a lifetime, who promised I would never know a moment of hardship, had finally died somewhere along the way.

Dennis's bodyguards seized me by the arms and dragged me out the door.

"Starting today, Mr. Sanchez is reclaiming everything he ever gave you. If you'd like to keep this hospital room..."

I smiled, and it tasted like ash. I turned and walked away.

"No need. Dennis and everything that belongs to him. I don't want any of it."

My phone and wallet were both confiscated. Because every last thing I owned had come from Dennis.

I stood on the street with nothing to my name, trying to flag down a car to take me home. But every time a kind stranger slowed to a stop, Dennis's bodyguard stepped forward and delivered the same line:

"If you're not afraid of crossing Mr. Sanchez of Grandeur Group, go ahead and let her in."

They would shake their heads at me, apologetic but helpless, and hit the gas.

The bodyguard watched my body sway, barely upright, and spoke without a shred of warmth.

"Mr. Sanchez asked me to pass along a message. This is what happens when you defy him. If you're willing to apologize to Ms. Swanson and agree to personally attend to her for the rest of her pregnancy, he'll have me drive you home."

I didn't hear a word. I just put one foot in front of the other and started walking toward home.

Blood trickled down my thighs and dripped onto the asphalt, drawing stares from passersby. But I was beyond feeling any of it. One step, then another, then another, until the sky turned black and I finally reached the front door.

The house blazed with light, pushing back the cold of the late hour. I raised my fingers, stiff and half-frozen, and punched in the code.

The keypad answered with an error tone.

I clenched my teeth and entered it again. And again. The system rejected me every single time.

The housekeeper finally stormed to the door, flung it open, and stared at me with flat, pitiless eyes.

"Ma'am, you can stop trying. Until you apologize to Mr. Sanchez, you're not allowed to use anything he paid for."

"This house belongs to Mr. Sanchez. If you won't apologize, you can't come in."

She looked me up and down and let out a scornful laugh.

"If you ask me, you should just hurry up and apologize. Do you have any idea who Mr. Sanchez is? There's a line of women out there waiting to take your place. Look at yourself. No family background, no looks to speak of. Over thirty and you can't even have children anymore..."

"That woman of his is already carrying his child, and he still hasn't divorced you. That's more than you deserve. So what exactly are you throwing a fit about?"

I cut her off quietly.

"I'm not going in. I just need to take one thing and leave."

The housekeeper choked on her words for a moment, then sneered.

"Everything you own was bought by Mr. Sanchez. What could possibly belong to you? Don't tell me you're planning to steal his jewelry and handbags to pawn off somewhere."

"I just want my medical file," I said calmly. "Is that not allowed?"

She rolled her eyes, went upstairs, and came back down with a manila envelope that she threw at me.

I picked it up and looked at the document inside: a necrospermia diagnosis report bearing Dennis Sanchez's name. I smiled without making a sound.

This was the medical examination report from our premarital checkup ten years ago.

The day I received it, my heart was a tangled mess. I had no idea how to tell Dennis.

A man as proud as him. How could he possibly accept that his body had failed him?

And his competitors. How would they use something like this to tear him down?

But the doctor had told me a secret. My body was unique. I could activate Dennis's otherwise inert cells, making conception possible.

"Ms. Pruitt, Mr. Sanchez is truly fortunate to have married you. In all my years of practice, you're the only person I've ever encountered with a condition like yours..."

I had planned to bury this secret in my heart forever, to never let Dennis find out.

I never imagined that one day, I would be the one to expose it to the world with my own hands.

I pulled the last of my loose change from my pocket, printed over a dozen copies of the report, and handed them to a courier.

Each copy was addressed to a different company that rivaled Dennis's, along with the private contact information of each CEO.

"Please deliver these as fast as you can," I said softly. "Just tell them it's a gift from Mrs. Sanchez. They'll tip you generously."

Dennis, this is my parting gift to you.

I hope you enjoy it.

I left the house that had been our marital home and made my way back to the tiny studio apartment where Dennis and I had lived when we first started the business ten years ago.

Back then, we were dead broke. All we could afford was the cheapest rental in the worst part of town.

The place was awful. But we were happy.

We were so poor that instant noodles were all we had, and Dennis would lie and tell me he'd eaten plenty at a business dinner, pouring both servings into my bowl.

Late at night, I would find him standing at the kitchen sink, drinking glass after glass of tap water to fill his stomach.

Our wedding took place in that same cramped little apartment. No reception. No guests. Just a plain silver band that cost less than a hundred dollars.

This place meant everything to me.

So even after we moved into the penthouse at Bayshore Villa, I secretly bought the apartment and kept it.

I used to imagine that when Dennis and I grew old, we would move back here and live out our days together.

I never thought the day would come when our marriage would be over, and I'd return to the place where it all began.

I turned the key and pushed the door open.

Two bodies were tangled together on the couch.

And the matching pajamas I had kept tucked away in the closet, the ones Dennis and I once wore together,

They were wearing them right now. Dennis and Beryl, standing in my apartment, dressed in my pajamas.

My mind went blank. The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

"Dennis! How could you bring her here? You know this is where we..."

I didn't finish. Beryl's hand was already moving. She slapped herself across the face with practiced precision, her cheek blooming red in an instant. She stepped in front of Dennis, eyes brimming with tears, and stared me down.

"Mrs. Sanchez, I just wanted to understand what Dennis's life was like before. I begged him to bring me here." Her lip trembled. "If it upsets you, I'll get on my knees and apologize. Just please stop hurting him."

Dennis looked shattered. He cradled her face in both hands, blowing gently on the mark she'd made herself.

Then he glanced at the bodyguard behind me. One look. That was all it took.

Hands clamped down on my arms. A palm the size of a dinner plate cracked across my cheek. Then again. And again. My ears rang, a high-pitched whine drowning out everything else.

I don't know how long it lasted before they finally stopped and let go.

I crumpled to the floor. Dennis looked down at me, his expression flat, utterly unmoved.

"Vee, why do you insist on making things difficult for yourself? If you're not feeling well, go home and rest. Why chase me all the way here just to start trouble?"

A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat.

"Go home? Do I still have a home? Is that place even mine anymore?"

I looked up at him, eyes burning. Tears and blood from my nose dripped onto the floor between us.

"Dennis, why did you have to bring her here?"

"You can go wherever you want to fool around. I don't care anymore. But why did you have to defile this place?"

"The Dennis Sanchez at thirty is rotten to the core. So why did you have to destroy the only memory the twenty-year-old version of you ever left me?"

Something flickered behind his eyes. A tremor, barely there.

Then it was gone, swallowed by rage.

"Rotten to the core? How am I rotten? Don't forget, Veronica, if it weren't for me, you'd have spent your whole life crammed into a dump like this!"

"And don't forget, the money you used to buy this place came out of my account! This is mine too! I'll do whatever I want with it!"

His fury twisted into a laugh.

"You think I've dirtied this place? Forget dirtying it. I could blow this shithole to rubble and it still wouldn't be any of your business."

He ordered them to drag me out.

They hauled me through the door while men wired explosives to the walls of the old apartment. A few pounds of charges, rigged to the crumbling exterior.

One command. That was all it took.

The building that held the only good memory we'd ever shared collapsed into dust and ash.

Firelight filled the sky. My tears wouldn't stop.

Dennis stared at the wet streaks on my face. The anger drained from his expression, replaced by something cold and distant.

"Veronica. What do I have to say to make you understand?"

"I gave you the title of Mrs. Sanchez. I put you in Bayshore Villa. I let you carry handbags that cost over ten thousand dollars apiece. The clothes on your back right now are couture that ordinary people couldn't afford in a lifetime. Haven't I been good enough to you?"

"You're thirty years old. You're not young anymore. Do you honestly expect me to still be in love with a woman whose looks are already fading?"

"I'm giving you the dignity of being my wife. I'm giving you a life of luxury. All I need is for you to turn a blind eye and make room for Beryl and the child. Is that really so impossible?"

I met his gaze. Every word came out steady and clear.

"No."

"Dennis, you erased everything we had with your own hands."

"I want a divorce."

Irritation and anger bled into his eyes. He looked at me for a long moment, then spoke, his voice flat.

"Divorce? Not a chance. Even if I don't love you anymore, you're still the most important person in my life. I will never divorce you."