I walked into my husband’s workplace on Valentine’s Day holding a romantic gift, only to see him proposing to his wealthy female boss while the staff cheered. He smirked at me, whispering, “You’re just a poor housewife, accept it.” I didn’t cry. I simply pulled out my phone, dialed the company’s majority shareholder, and whispered into the speaker…
I walked into the dining room. The torn shreds of the Kyoto boarding passes were still scattered across the glass table where I had left them. For years, I had held onto the dream of Japan as a reward—a token of survival after all the stress, the late nights, the compromises.
