She looked me up and down and let out a scornful laugh.
"If you ask me, you should just hurry up and apologize. Do you have any idea who Mr. Sanchez is? There's a line of women out there waiting to take your place. Look at yourself. No family background, no looks to speak of. Over thirty and you can't even have children anymore..."
"That woman of his is already carrying his child, and he still hasn't divorced you. That's more than you deserve. So what exactly are you throwing a fit about?"
I cut her off quietly.
"I'm not going in. I just need to take one thing and leave."
The housekeeper choked on her words for a moment, then sneered.
"Everything you own was bought by Mr. Sanchez. What could possibly belong to you? Don't tell me you're planning to steal his jewelry and handbags to pawn off somewhere."
"I just want my medical file," I said calmly. "Is that not allowed?"
She rolled her eyes, went upstairs, and came back down with a manila envelope that she threw at me.
I picked it up and looked at the document inside: a necrospermia diagnosis report bearing Dennis Sanchez's name. I smiled without making a sound.
This was the medical examination report from our premarital checkup ten years ago.
The day I received it, my heart was a tangled mess. I had no idea how to tell Dennis.
A man as proud as him. How could he possibly accept that his body had failed him?
And his competitors. How would they use something like this to tear him down?
But the doctor had told me a secret. My body was unique. I could activate Dennis's otherwise inert cells, making conception possible.
"Ms. Pruitt, Mr. Sanchez is truly fortunate to have married you. In all my years of practice, you're the only person I've ever encountered with a condition like yours..."
I had planned to bury this secret in my heart forever, to never let Dennis find out.
I never imagined that one day, I would be the one to expose it to the world with my own hands.
I pulled the last of my loose change from my pocket, printed over a dozen copies of the report, and handed them to a courier.
Each copy was addressed to a different company that rivaled Dennis's, along with the private contact information of each CEO.
"Please deliver these as fast as you can," I said softly. "Just tell them it's a gift from Mrs. Sanchez. They'll tip you generously."
Dennis, this is my parting gift to you.
I hope you enjoy it.
I left the house that had been our marital home and made my way back to the tiny studio apartment where Dennis and I had lived when we first started the business ten years ago.
Back then, we were dead broke. All we could afford was the cheapest rental in the worst part of town.
The place was awful. But we were happy.
We were so poor that instant noodles were all we had, and Dennis would lie and tell me he'd eaten plenty at a business dinner, pouring both servings into my bowl.
Late at night, I would find him standing at the kitchen sink, drinking glass after glass of tap water to fill his stomach.
Our wedding took place in that same cramped little apartment. No reception. No guests. Just a plain silver band that cost less than a hundred dollars.
This place meant everything to me.
So even after we moved into the penthouse at Bayshore Villa, I secretly bought the apartment and kept it.
I used to imagine that when Dennis and I grew old, we would move back here and live out our days together.
I never thought the day would come when our marriage would be over, and I'd return to the place where it all began.
I turned the key and pushed the door open.
Two bodies were tangled together on the couch.
And the matching pajamas I had kept tucked away in the closet, the ones Dennis and I once wore together,
