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.

Steven stood at the head of the table, presenting quarterly figures on a screen. His voice faltered when he saw me in the doorway.

“Please continue,” I said, taking my seat at the head of the table—the seat he used to occupy.

He cleared his throat.

“Profits are up twelve percent year-over-year,” he said, recovering his rhythm. “Our new product line has been particularly successful in the Asia-Pacific market—”

“Good,” I said when he finished. “Then we can increase our charitable contributions. I want the women’s shelter’s budget doubled this year. And the scholarship fund expanded.”

A murmur of assent went around the table. The CFO made a note.

After the meeting, as the others filed out, Steven lingered.

“Sunny,” he said.

“Ms. Summers,” I corrected, not looking up from my tablet.

He swallowed. “Ms. Summers,” he amended. “I… ran into Genevieve the other day. She’s working at a cosmetics counter in the mall. The… rich boyfriend dumped her. She says she didn’t know about the marriage. That I lied to her, too.”

“I don’t care,” I said. And I didn’t. Not anymore. Spoiled princesses and their consequences no longer had a place in my emotional budget.

“I miss you,” he blurted.