His computer was still awake. The screensaver—a photo of us in the basement apartment. Two kids squeezed onto a folding bed, grinning like idiots at the camera.
Back then, there really was light in his eyes.
Now that light was gone. Or maybe it just didn't shine for me anymore.
I walked to the desk to shut down the computer. My hand brushed the mouse, and the drawer slid open.
Inside lay a stack of documents.
On top: a pregnancy test report. *Anna Pruitt. 8 weeks pregnant.*
The date was two months ago—during the period when Jonathan was frequently "on business trips."
Beneath that: a draft prenup agreement.
The clauses were dense, but the core was crystal clear: *If Anna Pruitt divorces, she is entitled to 50% of property under Jonathan Gilbert's name + 10% of the company's equity stake.*
The third document was an equity structure analysis. A section titled "Risks and Response Strategies Regarding Nominee-Held Shares" was circled in red.
Beside it, handwriting I knew all too well: *Must ensure control. If necessary, leverage personal connections to apply pressure or initiate forced buyback.*
My blood turned to ice.