Chapter 2
My name is Emma Sinclair, and I'm thirty-two.
Ryan and I were college sweethearts.
He spent two years chasing me before I finally agreed to a date.
We tied the knot two years after we crossed the stage at graduation.
Back then, he didn't have a cent to his name. Absolutely nothing.
He was a scholarship kid from a farm in Greenfield County—his parents were struggling, and his little brother was still in school.
My parents fronted the down payment for our first house.
It was a two-bedroom in Metropolis—my dad cut a check for 400,000 dollars to get us in.
I was the one who carried the mortgage.
5,700 dollars a month.
Nine years, without missing a beat.
I ran the numbers—615,600 dollars, all out of my pocket.
Factoring in the interest, I still had two years of payments left before the bank handed over the deed.
When Ryan first started out, he was grinding in entry-level sales.
He was pulling in maybe 3,000 dollars a month.
He used to promise, "Once I make it big, I'm going to pay you back double for everything."
I told him he didn't owe me anything.
He certainly took me at my word.
Eventually, he jumped ship to a major multinational firm.
A few years later, he partnered with a buddy and launched his own startup.
He moved into high-end building supplies.
His luck turned, and the business absolutely took off.
Suddenly, he was draped in bespoke suits, sporting a Patek Philippe, and cruising in that Cullinan.
Meanwhile, I was still the same girl fighting for a spot on the 7:00 AM commuter train every morning.
It wasn't that I couldn't afford a life.
I just couldn't break the habit of saving every cent.
The mortgage, supporting his folks, even footing the bill for his brother's wedding—I handled it all.
I even cut a 26,000-dollar check so his brother could afford a down payment on a house.
I was the one who covered the 20,000 dollars for his mom's heart surgery.
I dropped 6,000 dollars on a black-tie retirement gala for his father.
I never once pushed back.
To me, they were family, and family was my responsibility.
I truly believed this was just what a good partner did.
Ryan never even thought to offer a "thank you."
He just acted like it was my job.
Late last year, I found out I was pregnant.
At the eight-week mark, I started spotting.
The doctor put me on strict bed rest to try and save the pregnancy.
I called Ryan, panicking.
He claimed he was stuck on a business trip out of state.
"Just get to the ER," Ryan told me over the phone. "I'll call my mom and have her sit with you."
His mother never showed up.
She told me her sciatica was acting up and she couldn't drive.
So, I hailed an Uber and went to the hospital by myself.
I lay in that sterile hospital bed, completely alone.
I had to sign my own consent forms for the procedure.
I lost the baby.
Ryan never showed his face that day.
The next morning, he breezed in from his "business trip" clutching a bouquet of flowers.
"I'm so sorry, the closing on this project was a total nightmare," Ryan said.
I didn't give him a response.
He dropped the flowers onto the nightstand.
They were lilies.
I'm allergic to lilies.
He never bothered to learn that.
Nine years of marriage, and he still had no clue that lilies closed up my throat.
The bouquet sat on that table for three days.
I spent those three days sneezing my lungs out.
On the fourth day, I got up and threw them in the trash myself.
Now, the pieces finally fit.
He hadn't been at a conference or a closing at all.
The charges on his secondary card laid it all out—during those exact dates,
He was at Suncrest, booked into Atlantis Grand Hotel.
The penthouse suite ran 4,000 dollars a night.
He stayed for two nights.
He also blew through cash on room service, a couple's massage, and VIP aquarium passes.
The weekend total hit 15,000 dollars.
While I was losing our child in a hospital wing.
While I was trapped in a hospital bed, he was playing house with Zoey in a penthouse at Suncrest.
15,000 dollars—gone in a weekend.
My entire procedure? It cost exactly 1,200 dollars.