“I walked into my own mansion expecting my wife to run into my arms, but instead I found my family celebrating my money while the woman I loved was missing.

started asking me to sign things. Household authorizations. Staff approvals. Renovation permissions. She said you had already agreed, but the bank needed my signature because I was your spouse.”

My stomach tightened.

“I asked to speak with you,” she continued. “She said you were in meetings across different time zones and didn’t want to be bothered with small matters.”

“I would never—”

“I know,” Emma said quickly. “I know that now. But back then, every time I called, your phone went to voicemail. Your emails became shorter. Sometimes I got replies that didn’t sound like you, but I told myself you were tired.”

A chill moved through me.

“I wrote to you every week,” I said.

Her eyes lifted slowly.

“No,” she whispered.

“I did.”

She sat on the chair across from me. “I received maybe one message every month. Sometimes less.”