“Leo, remember — you were the one who tore this all apart first.”
She hung up.
But I didn’t feel even the slightest bit of satisfaction.
Only bitterness. And sorrow.
I had tried so hard to convince myself — that she did love me, that she did love our children, that she was just cold by nature.
But the truth was, she could lose control. She could get furious.
The truth was, she never loved any of us at all.
I wasted ten years of my life with someone who never loved me. And I could only watch helplessly… as she caused the death of our two children.
***
I didn’t respond to any of the insults.
And perhaps to provoke me further, Irene began her retaliation—openly and shamelessly.
She took Henry with her to every academic conference, every gala, every public appearance.
They wore matching outfits like a couple, holding hands while being interviewed.
At the launch event for a research project I had personally funded—one that only existed because of me—she stood on stage and declared, loud and clear.
“Henry played a critical role in this project. Without him, it would never have succeeded.”
They smiled at each other and the press captured it perfectly.
The photo made headlines the next day: