Too Late to Beg: My Ex-Wife is a Secret Billionaire

We were making love, or so I thought, until Sebastien moaned his ex’s name in my ear as he sank into the bed I’d made myself that morning.

Katerina.

Just like that, with a K. With that elegant name that had always suffocated me from the shadows.

I stayed beneath him for a moment longer. Not out of dignity. It’s just that I didn’t know how to move. My head had suddenly gone blank, like when you turn off an old TV and the image turns into a white dot that takes a while to fade away.

Sebastien rolled onto his side. His breathing slowed almost immediately, that rhythm I knew from so many sleepless nights. He always fell asleep like that, as if nothing had happened.

The mattress was swallowing me up. Literally. It has a dip in the middle that I hate and that I never mentioned to him because he was the one who chose the mattress. Or maybe she chose it. Katerina. I don’t even know anymore.

I got up clumsily, stepping on the hem of my own nightgown that was on the floor. I tripped over it and almost fell. That doesn’t happen in novels: the devastating moment interrupted by a ridiculous stumble.

The bathroom marble was cold. I sat on the edge of the tub without turning on the light all the way, just that little bulb that’s been buzzing and flickering for months and that Sebastien has never had fixed. The buzzing bothered me, but that night it almost kept me company.

I’d bought the pregnancy test three hours earlier. At the corner pharmacy where the clerk looked at me with that expression where you can’t tell if it’s kindness or pity. The little box had been in my purse all day, rubbing against my car keys and a crumpled receipt for who knows what.

I opened the wrapper with a bit of difficulty because my nails were cut really short. Since I stopped going to the manicurist, honestly, I don’t even know what my hands look like.

I waited. I don’t think even a minute. The pink line appeared too quickly, almost urgently. As if it wanted to see my face.

I looked in the mirror without meaning to, and there I was. Grace Elizabeth whatever-her-name-is. Wearing Sebastien’s shirt that came down to my thighs, the one I’d put on when he wasn’t looking. My eyes looked like two worn-out marbles.

I put the test in my shirt pocket. It’s probably still there. That warm feeling of the plastic against the fabric. Ridiculous. But it was the only thing I could think to do.

I went back to the bedroom but didn’t get into bed. I couldn’t. I sat in the armchair by the window and watched as the light shifted from dark gray to light gray. Not re , I thought of nothing and I thought of everything. I remembered a Sunday morning when Sebastien had made me laugh with a ridiculous impression of his boss, and I’d thought, “This is happiness.” How stupid.

At eight o’clock I heard him coming down the stairs. He was coming down as usual, with that confident stride, his bare feet on the wood. I was already dressed; I don’t remember when I got dressed. I was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of black tea that had gone cold and a piece of toast I hadn’t touched.

Sebastien walked in and went straight to the coffee maker. I always had it ready for him. Not that morning.

“No eggs?” he said.

He didn’t say hello. He didn’t look at me.

“We need to talk,” I said.

The silliest thing in the world to say, but I couldn’t think of anything else.

He didn’t even turn around. He took out his phone and started swiping through the screen.

“Katerina is leaving her husband.”

He said it in that voice. The same one he used to tell me traffic was bad or that he was going to be late. I kept holding the cup. The rim was burning my fingertip, but I didn’t move. Sometimes you stay still because any movement confirms that it’s all real.

“He wants to come back,” he said. “We’ve talked. I want to, too.”

I took a small breath. Just enough to keep from fainting. Not because of the drama—it’s just that sometimes I have trouble breathing. It’s been that way since I was little.

“I’m going to file for divorce.”

My tea was still cold. My fingers were still burning. Inside me, a cell was splitting in two, but I didn’t fully realize that yet. Well, I knew it and I didn’t. The test was in my pocket, and I hadn’t said a word. Why? Why would you tell a man who’s leaving that you’re going to have his child? To keep him around like in bad movies? No. I couldn’t. Or I didn’t want to. Or I don’t know. It’s all very confusing.

“Okay,” I said.

And the word came out strange. As if it were coming from someone else. Sebastien looked up for a moment, surprised or something like that. Then he went back to the phone.

“All right. I’ll send you the papers.”

I stood up. My legs barely held me up, but they held me up. I went up to the bedroom nd opened the closet. I stuffed a few things into a small suitcase. The hand cream I like, a sweater that itches but is mine from before I met him, the case for my spare glasses. The pregnancy test, still warm from my pocket, I tucked it among the clothes like someone hiding a secret they don’t even understand.

The lawyer arrived in the afternoon. A guy with glasses that didn’t look at me. The papers were very neatly organized, with little colored sticky tabs indicating where to sign. How thoughtful, right? They even put little arrows for me to break up my marriage.

Sebastien was leaning against the door. He didn’t say a word. I remember the sound of the pen on the paper. A soft scratch. Grace Elizabeth Moreau. My old name.

“You can keep the car,” he said. “And there’s money in the account.”

“I don’t need anything.”

I think that bothered him more than if I’d thrown something at his head.

I walked out. The door was incredibly heavy. I always told Sebastien to oil the hinges, but he never listened to me. Now the door creaked like a wounded animal, and that sound followed me all the way to the car.

It was raining. It was raining like in the movies, but here the water was really cold. I didn’t cover up. I looked for the umbrella in the suitcase but couldn’t find it—or maybe I didn’t want to find it. My hair, my coat, and my suede shoes got soaked; now they’ll be stained forever. Oh well.

Once in the car, I took out the ring. It took a little effort because it had been tightening around my finger these past few months. Using my teeth and saliva, I managed to get it off. I tossed it onto the seat next to me. A platinum circle that now looked like a zero, a nothing, a hole.

I started the car.

The rain pounded against the glass and I couldn’t see well, but I kept going. Inside me, something was stirring. Or maybe it wasn’t stirring yet, but it was there. A seed. A tiny thing I hadn’t asked for and yet already mattered to me in a strange, almost animal way. I didn’t think about the future. I didn’t think about revenge. I didn’t think about whether I was going to come back or not.

I thought about the fact that I was alive. And tired. Above all, tired.

And for the first time in a long time, the exhaustion didn’t feel like sadness.

It was something else. Like when you finish running and you can’t go on but you’re still breathing.

But I had a big secret stirring inside me that he didn't deserve to ever know.