The CEO’s Secret Divorce Text Killed My Husband

When we played house as kids, Flora Simmons insisted on kissing me during the "husband and wife" scene. I was so startled I ran straight to our teacher to tattle.

But the day Flora's parents were called in? She just beamed at me. "Our parents have met now. So when's the wedding?"

Years later, Flora became my wife. She showed me the diaries she'd kept since childhood—every single page had my name in it.

The year I was diagnosed with liver cancer, she didn't hesitate. She gave me part of her liver. To pay the bills, she dragged her weakened body to business dinners and networking events, night after night.

Before long, Flora Simmons became the most powerful female entrepreneur in Ashton City.

On her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She wanted to spend her remaining years with the one she loved.

But that night, Flora didn't come home.

And I never got the chance to tell her—my cancer was back. The doctors said I had less than a month.

1.

After Flora's press conference, reporters and paparazzi swarmed our doorstep.

Everyone wanted to know: What kind of man could make this legendary businesswoman abandon her empire for love?

I opened the door and told them the truth. "You've got the wrong house. I'm not Flora Simmons's lover."

They scattered like startled birds. But I called out to the dejected girl trailing at the back of the pack.

"I'll tell you where Flora actually lives. But I need you to do something for me. Deal?"

The girl—Carrie Cobb—nodded immediately.

"I want you to write a report every day. Show me what Flora and her lover are doing together."

Carrie blinked, confused. But she agreed.

The first report arrived the next day.

"Flora Simmons Spotted After Retirement—Romantic Market Stroll with Mystery Lover"

In the photo, Flora wore a simple sundress, a market basket dangling from one hand. Her other hand was clasped around someone else's.

Basil James. The intern she'd personally mentored.

I printed the photo and pasted it into one of Flora's old diaries.

On that page, she'd written: "Went to the farmer's market today. Mom and Dad got into a huge fight over whether to buy eggplant or potatoes. When I'm with Howard Gilbert someday, we'll eat whatever we want."

I traced my fingers over her handwriting, remembering what she'd said on our wedding night.

"Howard Gilbert, I've loved you sincerely for twenty years. If you ever want to leave me, you'll have to recreate every single page in these diaries and give them back to me first."

I looked at the photo of Basil.

This page... consider it returned.

The last time I'd seen him was the first Spring Festival after my transplant. Basil had been standing outside our building in the cold.

"Flora," he'd pleaded, "my mom won't let me come home unless I bring a girlfriend. Could you open the office? Just let me go back to work instead."

To help him save face with his family, my colleagues convinced Flora to pretend to be his girlfriend for the holiday visit.

After that, Flora's career skyrocketed. I saw her less and less. Eventually, my messages to her went unanswered entirely.

A notification sound pulled me from my thoughts.

It was Flora.

"There's something I need to discuss with you. Can we meet?"

So formal. Like she was scheduling a business appointment.

I agreed. She didn't suggest coming home. Instead, she asked me to meet her at a restaurant.

The moment I walked in, a server escorted me to Flora's private dining room.

Her perfume already lingered in the air. She must have been coming here often during all those months we'd grown into strangers.

Flora walked in carrying a briefcase. Gone was the casual sundress from her market photos with Basil. She was dressed sharply, all business.

So this is official.

"I'm planning to live with Basil," she said, setting down her bag. "Given my public profile, a divorce right now would be... complicated. Would you be willing to stay legally married for the time being?"