My husband, Tyler Morgan, had no idea that I had just inherited two hundred million dollars, and before I found the courage to tell him, he looked at me with open contempt and said, “I cannot afford to support a woman without a job anymore, so you need to get out.”
His words struck harder than any slap, and he did not even bother to look at my face while I stood there nine months pregnant and shaking.
He grabbed his keys, walked out of our apartment in Phoenix, Arizona, and closed the door behind him while I was bent over in the first waves of labor pain and trying not to collapse onto the floor.
I remember whispering, “Please, Tyler, I am about to give birth,” but he replied without emotion, “That is not my problem,” and left as if he were stepping out for coffee.
Three days earlier, I had been sitting alone in our kitchen when a lawyer from Denver, Colorado, called to inform me that my maternal grandfather had passed away and that I was his sole heir.