After I delivered our twins, my husband tossed divorce papers onto my hospital bed. “Sign them. You’re too sloppy now—you embarrass a CEO like me.” With his arm around his secretary, he sneered, “She’s the one worthy to stand beside me.” I signed without hesitation. The next morning, his access card was deactivated. I stepped out of the Chairman’s office and finally told him the truth.

“God,” Mark said, his voice flat. “Look at you.”

He walked to the side of the bed, maintaining a safe distance, as if my exhaustion were contagious.

“Mark?” I whispered, my throat dry. “The babies… they’re here.”

“I see them,” he dismissed, waving a hand toward the window without turning his head. “They’re fine. The nannies will pick them up later.”

He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick, blue legal folder. He tossed it onto my chest. It landed with a heavy thud, pressing against my surgical incision. I gasped in pain.

“What is this?” I asked, my hands trembling as I touched the folder.

“Divorce papers,” Mark said calmly. “And a Non-Disclosure Agreement. Sign them.”

The world seemed to tilt. “Divorce? Mark, I just gave birth three hours ago.”

“And look at the state of you,” Mark spat. He gestured at my body, at the IV lines, at the pale, swollen skin. “You are a mess, Anna. You’ve been a mess for months. You’re fat, you’re tired, and you’re boring. You are ruining my image.”

He reached out and pulled Chloe to his side. She giggled, a cruel, tinkling sound, and rested her head on his shoulder, looking at me with pitying eyes.

“I am the CEO of a billion-dollar tech conglomerate,” Mark declared, puffing out his chest. “I need a partner who reflects my status. Someone young, vibrant, and presentable. Chloe fits the brand. You… you are just a housewife who got lucky.”

I stared at him. The man I had loved. The man I had built. He was rewriting history in real-time. He truly believed that he was the sun around which the world revolved, and I was just a dying satellite.