“I’m your wife,” I said. “I cared for your father because I loved him—and because I loved you.”

“And I appreciate that,” he replied, pulling out a check and tossing it at my feet. “Ten thousand dollars. Payment for services. Take it and leave. I want you gone before my lawyer arrives. I’m renovating everything. The house smells old… and like you.”

I tried to reason with him. I reminded him of ten years together. It didn’t matter.

Security arrived. I was escorted out into the rain while Curtis watched from the upstairs balcony, finishing his champagne.

That night, I slept in my car in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour grocery store. I felt shattered—humiliated, disposable, erased. Had I spent ten years loving a stranger? The man I believed in never existed. Only a predator waiting for the right moment.

Three weeks passed. I searched for a small apartment, tried to rebuild my life, and received divorce papers. Curtis wanted it fast. Clean. As if I were something to be wiped away so he could enjoy his fortune unencumbered.

Then the notice arrived.

Arthur’s attorney—Mr. Sterling, a stern and meticulous man—requested the official reading of the will. Curtis called me, furious.

“I don’t know why you’re even invited,” he snapped. “Dad probably left you some worthless trinket or photo album. Just show up, sign whatever, and disappear. Don’t ruin this for me.”

I arrived at the law firm wearing my best outfit—the only thing I owned that didn’t carry the scent of humiliation. Curtis was already there, seated at the head of the polished mahogany table, flanked by financial advisers who looked like sharks circling fresh blood.

And he smiled—confident, certain, and completely unprepared for what was coming next.

He looked at me with open contempt as I entered the room.