** I decided to test my husband and told him: “Honey, I got fired!” — but the truth was, I’d been promoted….

The next morning, I left the house before sunrise. I didn’t go to work. Not right away.

I went to the storage closet where we kept old documents. Warranties, receipts, contracts, tax papers. I pulled everything I could find.

I needed proof. Evidence that I had contributed to that house. That I had invested in it with my own money, not just my presents.

The new water heater. My bonus paid for it. The custom cabinetry in the kitchen.

My design, my deposit. I dug out bank statements. Delivery invoices.

Furniture receipts. I packed them all into a box, then into a bag, and drove across town to the only person I trusted. Emily.

Emily Barnes wasn’t just a colleague. She was my friend. For years, we’d been each other’s sanity during late nights at the office.

She knew my coffee order, my birthday, the name of the stray cat I once tried to adopt and failed miserably. Most importantly, she’d never once betrayed me. Not even with gossip.

And that made her invaluable now. When I showed up at her door, she didn’t ask questions. She just looked at me for a moment, then stepped aside.

I need a favor, I whispered. Say no more, she said. In her kitchen.

I placed the documents on her table. If anything happens, if I disappear, if I stop answering calls, give this to my lawyer. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

I’m not being paranoid, I added, seeing the concern in her face. But I can’t take any risks. Emily nodded slowly.

You’re scaring me a little. But okay, whatever you need. I exhaled, the tension in my chest loosening just a bit.

I hadn’t told her everything. Not about Claire, not about the baby, not yet. But she understood enough.

That something was deeply wrong. That I needed her. And for now, that was enough.

As I drove back home, I passed by the park where Brian and I used to walk on Sundays. I remembered how he used to hold my hand. How he once looked at me like I was his entire world.

That man, that version of him was dead. The one waiting at home for me now. He was a stranger in familiar skin.

And tonight, that stranger was going to sit me down, look me in the eye, and ask me to disappear. He had no idea that I was already planning how to make sure it would be him. Who lost everything.

When I walked through the front door that evening, I knew it was coming. The conversation. The performance.

He’d rehearsed it in his mind. I could see it on his face. That forced concern.

The artificial heaviness in his shoulders. Brian Carter was about to pretend to be the good guy in his own betrayal. Hey, he said, voice low, careful.

We should talk. I gave him a tired smile. Just enough to look worn down.

Just enough to keep him confident. Sure, I replied, dropping my bag by the door. What’s going on? He gestured to the living room, already set up like a scene from a play.

He dimmed the lights. Two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table. He even had a blanket draped over the armrest.

Like this was going to be some soft, mutual discussion. Like he was doing me a favor by dismantling my life gently. I sat.

He took the armchair across from me, lacing his fingers together, letting out a sigh so theatrical I nearly laughed. Rachel, he began. I’ve been thinking a lot lately.

About us. About where we are. And I think we’ve grown apart.

I kept my eyes on the wine glass, nodding slightly. OK, I don’t want this to be ugly, he continued, leaning forward. I don’t want lawyers or courtrooms.

I just think it’s time we both admitted this marriage isn’t working anymore. He sounded heartbroken. Like he was the victim.

Like this decision was tearing him apart inside. I mean, with you being out of work now, he added gently. Maybe this is a good time for a fresh start…