Each copy was addressed to a different company that rivaled Dennis's, along with the private contact information of each CEO.
"Please deliver these as fast as you can," I said softly. "Just tell them it's a gift from Mrs. Sanchez. They'll tip you generously."
Dennis, this is my parting gift to you.
I hope you enjoy it.
I left the house that had been our marital home and made my way back to the tiny studio apartment where Dennis and I had lived when we first started the business ten years ago.
Back then, we were dead broke. All we could afford was the cheapest rental in the worst part of town.
The place was awful. But we were happy.
We were so poor that instant noodles were all we had, and Dennis would lie and tell me he'd eaten plenty at a business dinner, pouring both servings into my bowl.
Late at night, I would find him standing at the kitchen sink, drinking glass after glass of tap water to fill his stomach.
Our wedding took place in that same cramped little apartment. No reception. No guests. Just a plain silver band that cost less than a hundred dollars.
This place meant everything to me.