“There is no ‘we’ anymore, Daniel,” I said. “I have already instructed my attorney to draft the divorce papers.”

He stood up, taking a step toward me.

“I made a mistake,” he said. “The pressure of the business, the expansion—I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You were thinking perfectly straight when you forged my signature on the secondary loan application,” I said.

He stopped, his mouth slightly open.

“I know about that too, Daniel,” I said.

He looked down, his shoulders slumping.

“Take what you need for tonight,” I said. “The rest of your things will be packed by the weekend.”

“This is my life,” he whispered.

“It was my life first,” I said.

He stood there for another minute, as if waiting for me to soften.

When I didn’t move, he slowly turned and walked up the stairs.

I heard his footsteps fade down the hallway toward the small guest room at the back of the house.

I sat down at the kitchen island and poured myself a glass of water.

My hands were steady, but my chest felt tight.