Chapter 2

The next day, I traveled back to my hometown to hold my mother's funeral.

My family and my friends waited with me for over three hours, but Miles was nowhere to be found. Restless whispers began to fill the room.

"What kind of man misses his mother-in-law's funeral?"

"The old lady passed away, and he doesn't even bother to show up?"

...

With the burial time fast approaching, I had no choice but to call him, but all my calls went unanswered.

Half an hour later, two text messages popped up on my screen.

Miles: [I'm out taking Susan to meet a client, so I won't make it]

Miles: [I had some flowers sent over for the funeral. Don't worry about splitting the cost. It's on me.]

I stared blankly at those lines, my mind flashing back.

Years ago, when I was still green in my career and routinely harassed by difficult clients, I had begged Miles to mentor me. Instead, he had handed me a time-tracking sheet.

"We split expenses and time as well," he had said. "The hours I spend holding your hand could generate far more value elsewhere. If you can't stand on your own feet, hand in your resignation."

It wasn't that he was stingy with his time. It was just that spending it on me was a waste.

I stared at the floral arrangement the funeral home had delivered, and the bitterness I'd been holding back finally spilled over in tears. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself through the burial service, standing on the windswept hillside as the icy air stung my eyes.

After the funeral, a social media notification flashed on my screen.

Susan had posted a new update, captioned: [This coffee shop is so popular! If my boss hadn't stood in line for me, I probably would never have gotten to try it!]

In the photo, Miles was standing in a long queue, an expression of patient devotion on his face that I had never once seen.

The drive to my mother's funeral would have taken him barely an hour, but it couldn't compete with a cup of coffee for Susan.

When I was headed back, the attorney called. "If you want to hold the driver accountable, you'll need to pay the legal retainer as soon as possible so we can file the lawsuit."

All told, the legal fees, expert costs, and other expenses came to more than 300,000 dollars.

I had always lived frugally, but living alongside Miles meant constant high-end expenses—French fine dining, luxury vacations, designer gowns for corporate galas...

Splitting every bill fifty-fifty had basically wiped out my savings. My only option was to mortgage the house my mother had left me.

But before I could breathe a sigh of relief, the bank rejected my application. Seconds later, Miles's call came through.

"I paid for the down payment and renovations on that house. You can't mortgage it without my consent. I'll send you an itemized bill of what you owe me. Pay back my share first, or I won't authorize you to touch the property."

Back then, he had offered to buy my parents a home, personally overseeing everything from architectural blueprints to interior decoration.

"Your parents are my parents, too," he had told me tenderly. "If they live comfortably, it will take a huge load off your shoulders."

His thoughtfulness had been real; his devotion to my parents had been genuine. But his cold suspicion now was just as real.

I let out a self-deprecating laugh and signed a promissory note to get him to back off. He said, "Settling up now ensures we won't have financial disputes down the road."

I remained silent.

Just as I was about to hang up, a text popped up.

Miles: [Susan and I are going on a business trip tomorrow. I'll bring you back a souvenir. You know, tomorrow is our fifth wedding anniversary.]

Right then, the attorney emailed over the draft of the divorce agreement.

I printed it out and signed my name. As the pen lifted from the paper, I knew there was no tomorrow left for Miles and me.