On my fourth morning at the estate, a cardboard box arrived by courier. It was cheap, poorly sealed with heavy tape, my name scribbled across the side in his aggressive handwriting: “FOR AUDREY.”

Mr. Vance placed it in the reception hall. “This was dispatched from Mr. Vance’s address, ma’am.”

I told him to open it. Inside were my remaining personal items from the apartment: an old bathrobe, pharmacy cosmetics, prenatal magazines, worn slippers, and a single folded sheet of paper.

I opened the note.

Audrey, enough of your ridiculous silent games. Return to the high-rise with my son before noon. My mother and sister are completely exhausted by your dramatic behavior.

You left the kitchen in absolute disarray. Do not forget that you are legally my wife, and Leo is the rightful heir to the Vance name. If you do not return by today’s deadline, I am instructing my legal counsel to take immediate emergency action.