“Oh really? And how exactly are you planning to survive? Start a mommy blog?” He let out a sharp laugh.
I didn’t respond.
I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet. I folded my son’s tiny onesies carefully, smoothing each piece of fabric as if sealing away every insult Ethan had thrown at me the night he’d told me to leave.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” he muttered from the doorway. “You have no idea how expensive life really is.”
For the first time, I looked him directly in the eyes.
“You’re right,” I said softly. “I have no idea what life is like without you dragging me down.”
I pulled the folder from my bag and placed it on the dresser.
He glanced at it lazily — until he saw the number.
His face drained of color.
“What is this?”
“My inheritance.”
He read the figure again.
“Two hundred million dollars?”
“It’s finalized.”
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
“You knew?” he asked. “Before that night?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
I gave him a small, almost pitying smile.
“I needed to know who you were without the money.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“This changes everything,” he whispered.
“No,” I replied. “It doesn’t change anything. It just reveals it.”