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Severance pay. Then he hung up. I sat motionless in my office while coworkers chatted nearby completely unaware my entire life had just detonated. When I got home, the divorce papers were waiting exactly where he said they’d be—stacked neatly on the kitchen island beside a Montblanc pen. Like he’d rehearsed this moment. And honestly? Maybe he had. I noticed something else too. One of my framed photos had already been removed from the living room shelf. That hurt more than the papers. Because it meant he’d emotionally left
long before the inheritance arrived. Derek walked in twenty minutes later carrying champagne. Champagne. Like this was some kind of celebration. He loosened his tie dramatically and smirked when he saw me sitting quietly beside the documents. “I figured you’d scream more,” he said. I looked up calmly. “Would it matter?” He shrugged. “Not really.” Then he opened the champagne. I watched him pour himself a glass while talking excitedly about private jets, yachts, and “finally meeting the right class of people.” Not once did he ask if I was okay. Not once did he hesitate. That’s when I realized something horrifying: Money hadn’t changed him. It revealed him. Finally, he slid the papers toward me. “So let’s keep this clean.” I stared at the documents for a long moment. Then I signed every page. Without argument. Without tears. When I handed him the pen
back, I simply said: “Enjoy your fortune.” He laughed directly in my face. “I absolutely will.” Then I packed a suitcase and left. No scene. No begging. Just silence. For the next three days, I stayed with my friend Naomi. And during those three days, Derek transformed into someone I barely recognized. His social media exploded overnight. Photos at luxury boutiques. Photos drinking thousand-dollar whiskey with cousins who previously ignored him. Posts about “new beginnings.” His family suddenly treated him like royalty. Apparently, being worth eight hundred million dollars makes even mediocre men look interesting. Then came Day Three. At 6:42 a.m., my phone started ringing. Derek’s mother. I ignored it. Then his sister called. Then his cousin. Then another cousin. By the eighth missed call, I finally answered. It was his mother sobbing hysterically.
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