“I just inherited my uncle’s fortune,” he said, his voice trembling with excitement. “Eight hundred million dollars, Ashley. Pack your things and be out of the apartment before I get home.”
At first, I thought he was being dramatic, like always. Kevin had a habit of exaggerating everything—stories, emotions, even himself. But that day, something in his tone felt different. Colder. Final.
“Kevin,” I said slowly, staring at the spreadsheet on my screen, “what are you talking about?”
“I’m saying I don’t need this marriage anymore.”
The words landed, and then there was silence. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the office. Someone nearby laughed at a podcast. Outside the glass walls, life went on like nothing had just shattered.
“I already had separation papers prepared,” he added. “Just sign them when you get home. Don’t make this messy.”
Then he hung up.
I sat frozen, phone still in my hand, until my coworker Lauren glanced over and asked if I was okay. I muttered something about a family emergency and left. The drive home felt unreal. I kept expecting Kevin to call back, to say he’d gone too far. But he never did.