“There is one option,” he said. “It’s not ideal, but it will protect you and Ethan.”
I took a slow breath. “What option?”
He leaned forward like he was sharing something painful.
“We get divorced.”
I placed a hand over my chest, acting shocked. “What?”
“Only on paper,” he rushed to explain. “Temporary. The debt stays with me, and you and our son stay safe. If we stay married, they can come after you too.”
Liar.
“You’d sign the divorce, cut all ties to the company, and I’ll take the hit. Later, when this is over, we’ll fix everything. What matters is Ethan.”
Hearing my son’s name in his mouth made my stomach turn.
“And the house?” I asked.
“We might have to sell it. Or transfer it temporarily. It depends.”
Every sentence was a trap disguised as concern.
I let real tears form. Not for his act—but for myself. For the years I had loved a man who had been quietly planning my destruction.
“I need time,” I whispered.
He frowned slightly, then softened again. “Of course. But we don’t have much.”
He kissed my head and walked out.
That night, when he locked himself in the bathroom, I grabbed the phone I had hidden and called my mother.
“He said it,” I whispered.
“The divorce?” she asked.