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…
He wrote about our early days. He wrote that his jealousy had mutated his love into a toxic, unbearable resentment. He claimed that he couldn’t survive in the shadow of a giant, and that his actions were the desperate thrashing of a drowning man trying to pull himself onto a raft.
He begged me to remember the man he was before the money.
