He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t look caught. He looked profoundly bored.

He reached into his jacket and produced a thick manila envelope, tossing it onto the nearest suitcase, where it landed with a heavy, final thud.

“Divorce papers, Emily,” he said, his voice smooth as cold butter. “I’ve already filed. Vanessa’s moving in today. I’ll be taking temporary custody of the kids until the hearing next month, given your… financial instability.”

The world tilted. My ears rang with a high, sharp whine. “You packed my bags? You’re throwing me out of my own home in front of our children?”

Vanessa stepped forward, her heels clicking on the wooden porch. She leaned against the railing, a smirk playing on her glossy lips.

“It’s not your home anymore, sweetie. Pack your things and go. This house has no room for a leech.”