Chapter 1

I gave him five years of my life. I quit my job to be a stay-at-home wife, raised our child, cared for his bedridden mother, and handled every single chore. Then, he brought home a twenty-something intern from his office. He tossed the divorce papers on the table and looked at me with a cold, dead stare.

“Shannon, you can’t survive without me. Just sign the papers. Don’t stand in the way of our happiness.” I signed them. I walked away with nothing, and he kept the kid.

Three years later, his business went bankrupt. The intern ran off with every cent he had left. Now, he’s kneeling on the cold concrete outside my office building, begging for a second chance. I walked right past him in my designer suit without even glancing his way.

You threw me away like trash back then. Now? You aren’t even worth my time.

1

The divorce papers were delivered by Logan himself.

He placed that single sheet of paper on the dining table. He pushed it toward me with an expression so calm, you would think he was handing over a meaningless monthly report. Actually, he was never that calm with reports. At least he would frown if the company was losing money.

“Shannon, let’s make this a clean break,” he said.

He was wearing a brand-new navy suit. The fabric was crisp, and he had silver cufflinks I had never seen before. He smelled faintly of a cologne I didn’t recognize. He looked like a product that had been rebranded―shiny, polished, and eager to get himself onto a new shelf.

A man who hasn’t worn cologne in three years suddenly starts using it. He isn't trying to impress his wife. He’s trying to impress someone else.

“Give me a reason,” I said. Honestly, I didn't need to ask. I had known for three months that there was someone else.

There were lipstick stains on his collars―a dusty rose shade that wasn't mine. There were the late-night “office calls” that went straight to voicemail when I tried to call back. A man who used to be too lazy to shave was suddenly doing face masks and spending more time in front of the mirror than I did.

When a man married for five years suddenly starts caring about his looks, there are only two reasons. Either he’s already cheating, or he’s working hard to seal the deal.

“We aren't a match anymore,” he said, tapping the table. His tone was dismissive, like he was complaining about a piece of clothing that was out of style.

“You’ve stayed at home for too long. You’re out of touch with reality. When I talk about company projects, you don't get it. When I talk about stocks, you’re lost. What do you even know how to do besides raising the kid and cooking? Oh, right―you’re great at changing my mother’s adult diapers.”

He laughed. That laugh felt like a dull knife slowly carving into my skin.

My father died a long time ago. His mother had been bedridden for three years. We hired three different nurses, but Logan wasn't happy with any of them. He said he didn't trust strangers.

He literally got on his knees and begged me to quit my job. “Shannon, she’s my mother. I can't trust an outsider. Just quit for a while. Once she gets better, you can go back to work.”

I waited three years. She never got better. After she passed away, he didn't let me go back to work. He told me I was already too far behind and that staying home was better for everyone. Now, he was looking at me and asking, “What else can you do?”

I picked up the pen from the table. My fingers were shaking at first. But once the tip of the pen touched the paper, I went steady. I wrote my name, one clear stroke at a time. I pushed the papers back to him.

“It’s done. You can leave now.”

He held the papers up to the light to check the signature. Then he smiled. It was the kind of smile a hunter gives when the trap finally snaps shut.

“Shannon, don't be too sad. Maybe you’ll find someone better after you leave me.” He scanned me from head to toe―my dry hair, my pale face, and my faded loungewear. “Though, the chances are pretty slim.”

The sound of his dress shoes clicked away down the hall. The door closed softly. But inside my head, it felt like an earthquake had just leveled everything.

The living room was terrifyingly quiet. My son’s toys were scattered across the floor―a bear with a missing arm, some blocks, and a stuffed rabbit with one eye. I knelt down, picked up the rabbit, and hugged it tight. Then, I called my mother.

“Mom, I’m getting a divorce.”

There were three seconds of silence on the other end. “Good. I never liked that prick anyway. Come home, honey. I’ll have dinner waiting for you.”

I hung up, and only then did the tears start falling. I had been holding them back for three months. Finally, they came pouring out.