On our anniversary, my husband took his little assistant to get her dog fixed.

I'd just had a miscarriage, and he never picked up when I called him, not even once.

Later, his assistant sent me a pair of red heels as an apology.

Seeing those shoes, I sent him the divorce papers.

The assistant called, sobbing, "Mrs. Walker, it's all my fault for acting on my own. Please don't be mad at Mr. Walker."

My husband, ever the gentleman, just told me, "If you keep throwing these tantrums, I'll actually sign them."

He had no idea I was dead serious this time.

"Why isn't my treatment ready?"

Sebastian barged in, annoyed to find me sprawled on the sofa, glued to my phone.

Sebastian has an eye condition. No matter how bad our fights got, I always had his treatment supplies ready when he got home.

Not this time. I ignored him, scrolling away.

Sebastian's brow twitched, but he bit back whatever he was going to say. He pulled a gift box from his bag, opened it, and set it in front of me.

"This watch is for you, a special anniversary gift!"

Just like always, he had a present to smooth things over.

But I didn't reach for it.

Still, I couldn't help but peek. It was totally my style.

The exact same watch he'd given me for my birthday three months ago.

I wasn't mad, just… over it.

I casually swiped away the Instagram feed where Sebastian's assistant, Valentina, had been flaunting the gift he’d gotten her. I said, barely looking up,

"Make sure to find the time to file the divorce papers."

Sebastian's so swamped, he has other people buy his gifts. If I didn't prompt him, he'd probably have someone else file the divorce for him too.

"Stop making a scene. Valentina didn't know you hated red heels. I already chewed her out."

He assumed I was still having a hissy fit and brushed me off. He tossed his phone on the coffee table and disappeared into the bathroom.

Just then, Sebastian's phone pinged. A message from Valentina popped up. Her profile pic? A selfie of her and Sebastian.

"Don't forget to use the eye mask I got you!"

Sebastian and Valentina's families have been tight for generations. Valentina’s five years younger, always looked up to him, totally had a crush. His family adored her. Straight out of college, she joined the family firm as Sebastian's personal assistant.

Valentina practically lives attached to Sebastian's hip, and he’s always been super protective of his childhood friend.

They used to hang out, play games. Now they work together, travel for business together.

I don't really blame Valentina for her feelings for Sebastian.

Where there's smoke, there's usually fire.

It's Sebastian's own indulgence that gave her hope, that fueled her delusions.

Sebastian emerged, towel-clad, tapped his phone, and sent Valentina a reply with a gaze full of pure affection.

Noticing I still hadn't prepped his treatment, he shot me a sidelong glance, a flicker of contempt in his eyes.

An eye mask was all it took to earn his affection and tenderness.

Eight years of marriage. Even recovering from childbirth, I'd binge-watch tutorials on treatment and massage techniques.

When effort becomes a habit, the habit morphs into an obligation. And an eye mask could erase eight years of dedication.

In his eyes, I was just being a petulant child now.

I pretended not to notice his look and rolled over, burying my face in my phone.

I didn't want him to see the tears welling up.

"Valentina will pick up Selena tomorrow."

My finger froze mid-scroll.

Selena is our daughter. From the day she was born, Sebastian's family whisked her away.

They claimed she needed the exclusive tutelage of an elite household. They also forbade me from picking her up or dropping her off as I pleased.

Two weeks ago, Valentina casually mentioned Sebastian's family had enrolled Selena in a holiday boot camp.

She's my daughter, yet his family micromanaged my access to her. Valentina, an outsider, faced zero restrictions.

Maybe, in their eyes, Valentina's family background made her inherently more qualified to raise my own daughter.