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…

who built the fortress, who tried to poison the well, and who ultimately possessed the power to burn the infection to the ground.

I set the glass down and looked out at the city lights.

For the first time in a decade, the silence of being alone didn’t feel like a punishment. It felt like I finally owned the deed to my own life.

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