When my husband fell seriously ill, I finally had a reason to step into his office after seven years of marriage. All I wanted was to ask for his sick leave. Instead, the receptionist froze, eyes widening as she studied my face. “The man you’re talking about… he owns this company. Our boss and his wife arrive and leave together every day. Unless… you’re not his wife.” In that second, my world cracked open.

Investors began to panic. Apex Tech’s stock took a hit. The board started to whisper. Shareholders don’t enjoy discovering that the face of their company is trending online not for innovation, but for being an emotionally bankrupt husband.

Two weeks later, he came to see me.

He still had a key to the apartment, but he discovered what I’d done when he tried it and the lock refused him.

He pounded on the door until the neighbor’s dog started barking.

“Sunny!” he shouted. “Open the door. We need to talk.”

I opened it just enough to slide the security chain in place. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in fourteen days. Dark circles smudged under his eyes. His hair was messier, his normally immaculate clothes wrinkled.

“Unfreeze the accounts,” he demanded, skipping any greeting. “The board is threatening to vote me out. I can’t pay suppliers. I can’t pay staff. Genevieve—”

He broke off, swallowing.

“She’s staying at a hotel,” he continued, “and I can’t even pay the bill.”

“Genevieve is a smart girl,” I said calmly. “I’m sure she has other friends with unfrozen credit cards.”