By the time I woke up in the hospital bed, Eleanor had posted again on social media.
This time it was a designer bag worth a million dollars.
The caption read: "Thank you to my generous big boss for this gift. I'll repay you with every ounce of energy I have, every single day."
The comments underneath were a parade of sycophants.
"Only Ellie could make Mr. Henson spoil someone like that!"
"Ellie, when are you going to push the wife out for good? We're all waiting for the wedding invite!"
There were dozens more just like them.
My expression didn't change. I closed the app.
A file pinged on my phone from one of my people. It was a timeline of Damian's affair.
Last June, while I was hospitalized, Damian and Eleanor had checked into a hotel together. The file included a photo of the two of them in bed.
I remembered that period clearly. We'd been splitting everything fifty-fifty for four years by then, but Damian's growing coldness had left me desperate for even a scrap of tenderness.
So I'd swallowed my pride and called him. Told him I had no money in my account. Asked if he could come see me. Help cover the hospital bill.
He'd barely let me finish before hanging up.