Chapter 4

In the end, we went with Camilo's friend's travel agency. And, thanks to his influence, it was an incredible trip.

We had our own private guide and translator, and every detail, from hotels to meals, was handled flawlessly. We hopped from country to country, a whirlwind tour of the world.

As we were taking photos in the lavender fields of Vethoulia, Emma leaned in and whispered, "Never turn down a freebie, Mom. If Dad's willing to foot the bill, we should spend as much as we can."

"Emma's right!" Emerson called from a few feet away, fiddling with his camera. "Okay, look at me! Smile!"

Emma grabbed my hand, and we both threw up peace signs for the camera. The pose was cheesy, but the smile on my face was genuine and new.

Similarly, my life after the divorce turned fresh and promising.

We took a private cooking class in a Tuscan villa, learning to make pasta from scratch while wearing matching aprons.

Then we flew to an old city in Egren, where we spent an afternoon at an outdoor range, learning to shoot real rifles at distant targets.

As I stared at the bullet-riddled silhouette of a paper target, it all clicked into place.

The kids had said this trip was for them, a last hurrah before high school. But it was for me. It was their way of helping me heal.

I thought about the path my life had taken. I had a terrible eye for men, but I had raised two of the most thoughtful kids on the planet.

God, I loved my children so much.

When we got back from our trip, I felt a restless energy. I needed a project.

The five million dollars from the sale of Camilo's company shares was already in my bank account, and the rest of the marital assets would be transferred soon.

But I had no intention of just sitting back and watching the money dwindle. I wanted to build something of my own.

After a few days of brainstorming, I had a crazy idea: I could be a "mom-life" content creator.

I had seen the videos.

Those women, often while taking care of their kids, filmed themselves cooking and shared their daily lives.

If you were good at it, with slick editing and a knack for storytelling, you could build a huge following.

Once I built up a following and my views were high enough, I could start monetizing. I could set up an online storefront and link to affiliate products.

And if I were charismatic on camera, I could even do livestreams, engage with my audience in real-time, and earn money from tips and super chats.

I pitched the idea to Emerson and Emma. They were my biggest cheerleaders.

"Mom, as long as it makes you happy," they said, "you should go for it."

Bolstered by their support, I filmed and posted my first video: my foolproof recipe for a perfect roast chicken with crispy potatoes.

It didn't go viral, but it got a respectable number of views and a few positive comments.

I knew success didn't happen overnight, and I was prepared to be patient. For the first time in a long time, my days felt full and joyful.

Then, just a few days before our divorce was to be finalized, Camilo showed up at my door. He told me he didn't want to go through with it. He wanted me back.

If Camilo had said this a month ago, I might have felt a spark of smug satisfaction, a flicker of hope, and a wave of relief.

But now, my life was consumed with my children and my new, burgeoning career. His sudden reversal wasn't a comfort. It was an annoyance.

"Why?" I asked him.

He wrung his hands, his eyes darting around before finally landing on mine, wearing a practiced mask of regret. "Susan, I've had a lot of time to think. And I realized I can't lose you. I can't lose the kids."

He couldn't lose me?

This was the man who had started "working late" the second our kids hit middle school.

He called me needy and clingy whenever I asked when he was coming home.

He had demanded a divorce without a single look back. And now, suddenly, he couldn't bear to let me go?

I would have an easier time believing pigs could sprout wings and do ballet than I would trusting him.

When I didn't respond, he pressed on. "Honey, I mean it. I know I was wrong. I want to come home. I want to be a family again."

I took a step back, creating a physical and emotional distance between us. "You know you were wrong," I repeated coldly. "And that means I'm supposed to just forgive you?

"You may want to come back, but I don't want you. And neither do the kids. They don't want you either."

He stared at me, stunned into silence. Finally, without another word, he turned and slunk away.

But something felt off.

Was this the same Camilo who, just a few weeks ago, would have happily handed over three-quarters of our fortune and half his damn company just to get me to sign the divorce papers?

And now he wanted to "come back to the family"? Please. What happened to Jessica? And what about her precious baby bump? Was Camilo just planning to ditch them and pretend they never existed?

Something had happened.

I made a few calls, tapping into the network of contacts I had built over twenty years as a corporate wife. It didn't take long to find the truth.

Camilo's company was in serious trouble.