“I care about my position on the advisory panel.”

Mark had joined the hospital’s financial advisory panel six months ago, purely for the social prestige.

“Your presence on this project is an embarrassment to me,” he said.

“People are already asking questions about our divorce.”

“You are the one who walked out, Mark.”

“Because you were obsessed,” he sneered.

“You dragged me through years of failed IVF, wasting our money, wasting my time.”

The words stung, opening the old, familiar wound in my chest.

I forced myself to look him directly in the eyes.

“That was a medical struggle, Mark. Not a personal failure.”

“It was a failure,” he said coldly.

“And now you are hovering around my project, trying to play the hero.”

“It is not your project,” I said.

“I am demanding that you distance yourself from the new wing,” he said, taking a step closer.

“Decline the board’s offer.”

“Tell them you are too busy with your ward.”

“If you don’t, I will make sure the board hears about your unstable emotional state during our divorce.”

He smiled, a cruel, mocking curve of his lips.