The numbers above the elevator doors blinked as I ascended to the fiftieth floor.

I held a velvet bakery box in my left hand. In my right, my leather tote bag felt unusually heavy. It held a single sheet of paper from Dr. Evans.

*Terminal.*

The word echoed in my skull. Six months. Maybe less if the chemo failed.

I didn't go home. I didn't collapse on my living room floor and weep. I had spent the last five years crying over a man who never wiped away a single tear. I didn't have the energy to waste my remaining days weeping.

Today was Jacob's thirty-second birthday.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal the sprawling executive suite of Walsh Enterprises.

"Mrs. Walsh!" The receptionist, a frantic woman named Sarah, jumped up from her desk. "Mr. Walsh asked not to be disturbed. He has a very important client in his private lounge."

"I know," I said.

"Please, let me buzz him first." Sarah reached for her phone.

"Don't bother. I'm bringing him his cake."

I walked past her desk. She didn't dare physically stop the CEO's wife.

The heavy oak door to Jacob's office stood slightly ajar.

I didn't knock. I pushed it open and crossed the expansive room toward the frosted glass door of the private lounge.

Faint sounds bled through the glass. A high-pitched giggle. A low, familiar groan.

My hand found the silver handle. I pushed it down.

"Jacob, wait," a sickly sweet voice whined. "What if your wife shows up?"

"Giselle?" Jacob laughed. It was the same arrogant, dismissive sound I had heard a thousand times. "She wouldn't dare interrupt me at work. Besides, she knows her place."

I stepped into the room.

They were tangled on the leather sofa. A blonde girl—maybe twenty, skin flawless—straddled my husband.

Affair number one hundred.

I stood in the doorway.

Jacob glanced over. Annoyance flashed across his handsome face before settling into bored indifference. He didn't even push the girl off his lap.

"You forgot to knock," he said.

"The door was unlocked," I replied. My voice sounded entirely foreign to my own ears. Flat. Hollow.

The girl squealed, snatching a discarded silk shirt to cover her chest. She glared at me, her eyes darting over my plain beige trench coat and pale, makeup-free face.

In the past, this exact scenario would have shattered my world.

The first time I caught him, I threw a heavy crystal vase at his head. The twentieth time, I sobbed on my knees, clinging to his pant leg, begging him to love me again. By the fiftieth, I had taken a razor to my own wrist in our master bathroom, threatening to end it all if he didn't stop cheating.

He never stopped. And I always forgave him.

But today, looking at his bare chest and the smug curve of his lips, my chest felt completely empty. The frantic desperation was gone.

"Are you going to throw another tantrum?" Jacob asked. He leaned back against the armrest, completely unbothered. "Because it's my birthday, and I really don't have the patience for your tears today."

I walked forward.

The blonde shrank back slightly. Jacob patted her hip, a silent command to stay put.

I stopped at the edge of the glass coffee table. I placed the bakery box down. The cardboard scraped against the glass.

"I brought you a cake," I said.

Jacob frowned. His dark eyebrows pulled together. He studied my face, searching for the hysteria he was so used to managing.

"Where is the screaming, Giselle?" he demanded. "Where are the threats? Are you going to run to the kitchen and grab a knife to slice your wrists again?"

"No."

"Then what game is this?"

"No game." I looked him straight in the eyes. "Jacob, you don't have to choose this time."

"Choose what?"

"Between me and whoever she is." I gestured toward the girl. "I'm leaving you first. I don't want you anymore."

Silence stretched across the room.

Jacob stared at me. His jaw tightened, then relaxed. A nervous, mocking chuckle escaped his throat.

"Right," he scoffed. "You're leaving me. Just like you did last month? You made it to the hotel down the street before calling me in tears."

"This time is different," I said.

"Sure it is." He crossed his arms. The confident facade remained, but a muscle ticked in his cheek. My calmness was unnerving him. He hated when I didn't play my part. He needed my desperation to feed his ego.

"You're overreacting, as usual," Jacob continued. "Go home. We'll talk about this tonight after my dinner meeting."

The blonde girl sensed his shifting mood. She sat up straighter, jutting her chin out.

"You should just sign the divorce papers and get it over with," she sneered. "Look at you. You're old. You're boring. Jacob needs someone young and vibrant by his side."

I shifted my gaze to her.

She puffed out her chest, waiting for a fight.

"He bought me a diamond tennis bracelet yesterday," the girl bragged, flashing her wrist. "What did he buy you? A grocery store cake? I'm going to be the next Mrs. Walsh anyway. You're just taking up space. He doesn't love you. He hasn't loved you in years."

I didn't blink. I didn't raise my voice.

"Take him," I told her. "He's all yours."

"Excuse me?" she snapped.

"I said, you can have him." I turned my attention back to Jacob. "I'll have my lawyer send the paperwork to your office tomorrow morning. Don't bother coming back to the house. Your bags will be on the porch."

Jacob stood up. He shoved the girl off his lap. She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the sofa.

"Giselle, stop this nonsense right now," he ordered. His voice dropped an octave, a command he expected me to obey instantly. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"For the first time in my life, Jacob, I have never felt less embarrassed."

I turned on my heel.

"Giselle! Come back here!" Jacob shouted.

I ignored him. I adjusted the strap of my oversized leather tote bag on my shoulder. As I did, the metal clasp snagged on my coat and popped open.

A few items spilled out onto the plush carpet. A tube of lipstick. A pack of mints. And the folded white paper from the hospital.

I crouched down, grabbed the lipstick and the mints, and shoved them back inside. I missed the paper. My fingers were trembling—not from sadness, but from the bone-deep exhaustion of the disease eating away at my insides.

"I said, stop walking away from me!" Jacob barked.

I stood up and continued toward the door.

"You'll be back by dinner!" he yelled at my back. "You always come back!"

I stepped out into the main office, my foot catching the edge of the doorstop. The heavy oak door remained

"Get on the bike, Giselle."

"I have a fever, Jacob. I'll get you sick."

"That's exactly why I'm taking you home. Get on."

"Did you sneak cough syrup into my backpack again?"

"Maybe."

His teenage voice echoed in my head. I could still picture his face from that afternoon in high school. His ears had turned bright red, betraying his tough facade.

"Giselle, I'm only going to like you for the rest of my life."

The memory played on a loop as I pushed open the front door of our house. The hallway was completely dark.

I flipped the light switch. The crystal chandelier illuminated the grand foyer. We bought this place the day after our wedding. Walking through these doors as a young bride, I truly believed I had married my soulmate.

Instead, I had married a nightmare.

"I swear it was a mistake, Giselle! She meant nothing to me!"

"If you walk out that door, I'll end it, Jacob! I swear I'll cut my wrists!"

"Please, Jacob, don't go! I'll be better! I'll do whatever you want!"

The ghosts of my own pathetic begging haunted these walls. The first time he cheated, I cried and forgave him. The twentieth time, I held a razor to my skin. By the fiftieth time, I knelt in the freezing rain on this exact driveway, clutching his wet trousers.

He always came back.

Not because he loved me. He came back because my shattered dignity fed his ego. He needed my frantic desperation. Our marriage had devolved into a twisted game. Jacob only felt loved when I destroyed myself to prove it.

I walked up the sweeping staircase and entered the master bedroom.

The king-sized bed sat perfectly made. The silk sheets and plush pillows looked completely foreign to me now. I didn't belong in this room anymore.

I sat on the edge of the mattress. My left hand rested on my lap. The massive diamond on my ring finger caught the dim light from the hallway.

I pinched the metal band. I pulled it forward. It slid over my knuckle with zero resistance. I had lost ten pounds this month alone.

I placed the ring on the nightstand. The metal clinked against the glass top.

"Turns out, what I was desperately holding onto wasn't love," I whispered to the empty room. "It was a man who would never be satisfied."

"Are you practicing for a soap opera?"

I flinched.

Jacob stepped out of the shadows of the hallway. He wore the same tailored suit from his office, though his tie hung loose around his neck. He had been standing outside the door. Listening.

"How long have you been there?" I asked.

"Long enough to hear you talking to yourself." He walked into the room, his expensive leather shoes sinking into the carpet. "I told you you'd come crawling back. You didn't even make it to a hotel this time."

"This is my house. Half of it, anyway."

"Right." He chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Are you done with the tantrum? Because I skipped my birthday dinner for this."

"I didn't ask you to skip anything."

"You left your trash on my floor."

Jacob reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the folded white paper from the hospital. He tossed it onto the mattress. It landed inches from my hand.

"Fake medical records, Giselle?" he asked. His tone was heavy with disgust. "This is a new low, even for you."

"They aren't fake."

"Terminal stomach cancer? Six months to live?" He laughed loudly, shaking his head. "You expect me to believe you hired someone to forge this just to make me feel guilty?"

"I didn't forge anything, Jacob. Dr. Evans gave it to me this morning."

"Stop lying!" he shouted.

I didn't cry. I didn't raise my voice. I just stared at his angry face.

"I'm not lying," I said quietly.

"You think a fake death sentence will make me drop to my knees and beg you to stay? You think this will make me stop seeing other women?"

"No. I think it means I'm going to die."

Jacob grabbed my shoulders. His fingers dug into my skin.

"Drop the act!" he demanded. "Tell me you faked it! Tell me you printed this out because you were jealous of the girl in my office!"

"Take your hands off me."

"Admit it!"

"Release me, Jacob."

He shoved me backward slightly and let his hands fall. He paced the length of the rug. His chest heaved. He hated this. He hated that I wasn't screaming.

"You always do this," Jacob muttered, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "You escalate. First it's tears, then it's threats, now it's a fake terminal illness. What's next, Giselle? Are you going to hire a fake priest to read your last rites?"

"Call him."

Jacob stopped pacing. "What?"

"Call Dr. Evans. His phone number is at the top of the page." I pointed to the paper resting on the bed. "Call him right now. Ask him about my biopsy."

Jacob stared at the folded sheet. He didn't move to pick it up.

"I'm not playing this game," he said.

"Because you know I'm telling the truth."

"I know you're insane."

"I'm dying, Jacob."

"Shut up!"

"My organs are failing."

"I said shut up!"

He kicked the wooden leg of the nightstand. The lamp rattled. The diamond ring I had placed there rolled off the edge and bounced onto the carpet.

We both looked at the ring.

"Pick it up," Jacob ordered.

"No."

"Put the ring back on your finger, Giselle. Right now."

"I'm filing for divorce tomorrow."

Jacob closed the distance between us. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. His sharp cologne filled the space between us, a scent I used to associate with safety. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

"You will never divorce me," he snarled. "You love me too much. You worship me."

"I worshipped a ghost. The boy who brought me cough syrup doesn't exist anymore."

"I am the exact same man!"

"The boy I loved wouldn't let a twenty-year-old mock his wife."

Jacob's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked near his temple. He searched my eyes for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, his expression shifted into something resembling victory.

"I fired her," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"I fired her. After you left. I kicked her out of the office." He crossed his arms. "There. Are you happy now? I chose you. The game is over. Put the ring on."

"You didn't choose me. You just didn't like that I walked away first."

"I kicked her out for you!"

"It doesn't matter." I stood up. I was suddenly exhausted. My stomach cramped, a sharp reminder of the rotting cells inside me. "You can hire her back tomorrow. I don't care."

"Where are you going?" he demanded as I walked past him.

"To the guest room. I'm sleeping there tonight."

"You are my wife. You sleep in my bed."

"Not anymore."

I reached the doorframe.

"If you walk out that door, Giselle, I'm calling Dr. Evans," Jacob warned. His voice dropped, turning dangerously quiet. "I'll call him, and when he tells me you faked this entire document, I will never forgive you."

I turned around. I looked at the man I had spent my entire adult life loving.

"Call him," I said.

I walked out into the hallway.

Behind me, I heard the crinkle of paper. Jacob had picked up the hospital letter. Then, the distinct sound of his phone dialing broke the silence of the bedroom.

"Do you recognize this?" Chloe asked.

She slid her phone across the marble cafe table. The screen displayed a photo of her and Jacob tangled in the sheets of a large hotel bed.

"No," I said.

"It's the penthouse at the Plaza. He booked it for us last night." Chloe leaned back, smoothing the fabric of her red dress. "He bought me this gown, too. Only ten exist in the world. He said I look much better in it than you ever could."

I picked up my porcelain cup and took a sip of black coffee. The bitter liquid burned my throat, masking the dull ache in my stomach.

"It fits you well," I said.

Chloe frowned. She leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table. She wanted a reaction. She wanted the screaming, crying wife Jacob had described to her.

"He doesn't love you," Chloe pushed. "He laughed when he told me about your little stunt at the office."

"Did he?"

"Yes. He said you always pull these pathetic tricks." Chloe tapped her manicured nail against the table. "Jacob told me about the paper. The cancer. Faking a terminal illness? That's just sad."

So he had called Dr. Evans. He knew the truth. And his first instinct was to run to his mistress and mock my diagnosis.

"It isn't fake," I said.

"Whatever. You're about to die anyway," Chloe sneered, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Why hoard the title of Mrs. Walsh? Just give up his spot."

I set the cup down. The ceramic clinked against the saucer.

"Then take it," I told her. "I don't want it anymore."

I reached into my leather tote bag and pulled out a thick manila folder. I opened it, revealing the divorce agreement my lawyer had drafted at eight this morning.

I clicked my pen and signed my name on the bottom line.

"What is that?" Chloe demanded.

"Everything," I said. "The house, the cars, the company shares. I'm leaving it all to him."

I unclasped the heavy diamond necklace from my throat. I pulled the matching earrings from my lobes. I dropped them onto the papers. The jewels sparkled under the cafe lights, heavy and entirely meaningless.

Then, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver brooch. It belonged to my mother. It was the only thing I was taking.

I slid the folder toward her. "Hand this to him. Congratulations on your promotion."

I stood up and walked out of the cafe, leaving her staring open-mouthed at my signature.

***

The rain started as a light drizzle by the time I reached the estate to grab my suitcase.

I dragged the heavy rolling bag down the front steps. The wheels rattled against the concrete driveway.

"Giselle!"

The front door slammed open. Jacob stormed out onto the porch, clutching the manila folder I had left with Chloe. The pages flapped wildly in the wind.

"What the hell is this?" he shouted, closing the distance between us.

"A divorce agreement," I said, keeping my grip on the suitcase handle.

"You gave everything back!" He shoved the papers in my face. "The penthouse, the shares, the jewelry! You didn't ask for a single cent!"

"I don't need your money."

"You're playing another game." His eyes were bloodshot. The arrogant smirk from yesterday was completely gone, replaced by a frantic, unhinged energy. "You think walking away with nothing proves a point? You think this makes you the victim?"

"There is no game, Jacob."

"I'll transfer the penthouse to your name right now," he offered, his voice rising in panic. "I'll give you fifty percent of the company shares. Just tear up this agreement."

"I don't want your shares."

"Then what do you want?" he demanded. "Tell me what you want, and I'll buy it!"

"I want the last five years of my life back."

Jacob froze. The papers in his hand crumpled as his fist tightened.

"I fired her!" he yelled, desperate to change the subject. "I fired Chloe yesterday, and she showed up at my hotel crying! I didn't even sleep with her last night! I just bought her a dress to make her leave!"

"I don't care."

I turned away and pulled my suitcase toward the iron gates.

Jacob grabbed my arm, spinning me back around. His fingers bruised my skin. The rain was falling harder now, plastering his dark hair to his forehead.

"You aren't leaving," he snarled. "Dr. Evans confirmed it. You're sick. You need treatment. You need me."

"I need you to let me go."

"Why are you doing this?" His voice cracked. The anger dissolved, leaving behind a raw, desperate confusion. "You loved me. You loved me more than anything in the world. You used to beg me to stay!"

I looked up at his wet face.

"Yes," I said quietly. "I loved you. I used to give you my life."

Jacob's grip loosened slightly. He stared at me, waiting for the reassurance I always gave him.

"But now," I continued, "I don't want to give you my life anymore."

I yanked my arm out of his grasp.

I turned my back on my husband and walked into the storm.

***

The rain turned into a torrential downpour. I didn't bother opening an umbrella. The cold water soaked through my thin trench coat, clinging to my shivering skin.

My boots splashed through deep puddles, but I didn't stop. I just needed to get away from the estate. Away from him.

Then, the pain hit.

It wasn't a warning ache. It was a violent, tearing sensation ripping through my abdomen. It felt like a serrated blade twisting inside my stomach.

I gasped. My fingers slipped from the suitcase handle.

The bag tipped over, crashing onto the wet asphalt.

"Giselle!" Jacob's voice echoed from somewhere behind me. He was following me.

I couldn't respond. I clutched my stomach, doubling over. My knees buckled.

The dark street spun wildly. The streetlights blurred into streaks of yellow. I was going to hit the ground.

"Giselle! Wait!" Jacob yelled. His footsteps splashed heavily against the pavement, rushing toward me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact of the hard road.

It never came.

Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, catching me inches from the ground. A large black umbrella shielded my face from the punishing rain.

"I've got you," a deep, steady voice said.

I forced my eyes open.

The man holding me wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jawline was sharp, his dark eyes intense and focused entirely on my pale face. Water rolled off the edge of the umbrella he held above us.

"Leonard?" I whispered.

My middle school classmate. The quiet boy who used to share his lunch with me. Now, he was New York's youngest, most ruthless defense attorney.

"You're safe," Leonard said. He pulled me tighter against his chest, ignoring my soaked clothes ruining his expensive jacket.

"Get your hands off my wife!" Jacob roared, arriving just feet away. He reached out to grab my arm.

Leonard didn't flinch. He shifted his body, shielding me completely from Jacob's reach. He fixed a cold, dead stare on my husband.

"She isn't your wife anymore, Walsh," Leonard said. "And if you take one more step toward my client, I'll destroy what's left of your miserable life."