One evening, Daniel came home carrying a thick folder and placed it on the dining table. He barely looked at me before explaining that he had spoken to a lawyer. According to his plan, the lottery winnings would remain under his control because he had purchased the ticket. He said I could keep some personal belongings and receive a modest payment, but the house and most of the money would belong to him.

I waited for him to smile and admit that he was joking, but his expression remained cold. “We had a good life, but I don’t want to spend another thirty years pretending,” he said. I asked whether our marriage meant so little that he could throw it away for money. He simply shrugged and pushed the divorce papers closer to me. I refused to sign them. That night, I lay awake in the guest bedroom, remembering our wedding, our children’s childhoods, and all the difficult years we had survived together. I couldn’t understand how the man who once promised never to abandon me could now treat me like a stranger.