"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."