When I walked into the apartment, everything was exactly as he’d described. The papers sat neatly on the dining table beside a polished pen. Kevin stood by the kitchen island in a blazer he only wore when he wanted to impress. A bottle of champagne chilled in ice.
“You actually went through with it,” I said.
He smiled, proud of himself. “I told you. My uncle Charles left me everything. Houses, accounts, investments. I’m done pretending this marriage still works.”
Pretending.
That word hit harder than anything else.
For three years, I had split rent while he “built his consulting career.” I covered bills when his clients didn’t pay. I even sold my grandmother’s bracelet once just to keep us afloat. And now he looked at me like I’d been temporary.
I flipped through the papers. They had been prepared quickly—too quickly.
“You planned this,” I said quietly.
“I prepared,” he replied. “That’s what smart people do.”
I looked at him for a long moment. Then, without arguing, without raising my voice, I signed every page. His smile widened, like I had just proven his point.
I slid the papers back to him. “Enjoy your fortune, Kevin.”
He leaned back, lifting his champagne glass in satisfaction.