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The day I left him, I boarded a flight to Austin. The moment I sat down, a fifty-dollar Venmo transfer popped up on my phone. The note said: “Jessica forgot to send the deposit for your sister’s surgery. This is to make up for it.” Then another message came in: “That’s on you. From now on, anything over $200 needs Jessica’s approval first.” “Why aren’t you answering? Orla, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you’re pregnant with my child.” “Show up tomorrow and explain yourself. Your sister’s surgery was delayed. It has nothing to do with Jessica. What’s the big deal if it’s a few days late?” I locked the screen and closed my eyes. Not long after, my phone started vibrating again. “Why aren’t you home? Where did you go this late?” “Pick up, Orla. If you don’t answer, I’ll have the hospital throw your sister out.” His messages and calls went unanswered. In the end, Soren Pierce rushed to the hospital himself. He knew I would never abandon my critically ill sister. But the room was already empty. He grabbed a passing nurse, his voice tight. “Where’s the patient who was in this bed?” The nurse glanced at him. “You didn’t know? Her condition suddenly worsened last night. The hospital couldn’t reach the family for the emergency surgery deposit, and we lost her.” Soren froze, the color draining from his face. Only then did he remember. Five days ago, I had called him asking for three hundred thousand dollars for my sister’s surgery. But his executive assistant, Jessica, had never passed on the request. When I’d told him I wanted a divorce that day, I hadn’t been bluffing. … He had said only one thing to me: “Stop this nonsense.” When he spoke, Soren never looked up from his laptop. He kept his eyes on a spreadsheet, as if it mattered far more than I did. I looked down at the floor, my voice steady. “I mean it. I want a divorce.” Soren took a sharp breath and stood, his expression cold. “You want a divorce over this?” I said nothing. He frowned, then went on. “It was my decision to pause your sister’s treatment. Jessica had nothing to do with it. She was following my instructions.” “The messages you’ve been sending were out of line. I didn’t want you making a scene, so I suspended the treatment.” “I’ve already had it reinstated. I’m busy. I don’t have time to manage your emotions.” Then he turned and headed for the door. He was sure I was just angry. Sure that in a few days, I’d come crawling back. If Soren had answered my call three days ago, maybe I would have still begged him. I remember standing in the hospital hallway that day, pregnant, pleading with him not to hang up. “Soren, please, lend me three hundred thousand. This donor kidney is her only chance. If she gets this surgery, she’ll live.” But all he said over the phone, impatient as ever, was: “Haven’t I told you a million times? If you need money, go through Jessica.” But getting money through Jessica had always been an exercise in humiliation. “Three hundred thousand dollars isn’t a small amount, Orla. Without a detailed hospital breakdown, how can I be sure this money is actually for the surgery?” I told her it was a deposit the hospital required upfront, and that the full bill wouldn’t be available until after discharge. She smiled. “I’m not saying I doubt you. I’ve just seen people lie about what money’s for. Some even doctor invoices. Soren’s reputation is on the line, so I have to be careful with things like this for him.” “Besides, Soren has rules. Any personal expense over two hundred dollars needs his approval first. Get me the hospital paperwork, and I’ll submit it for you.” Later, I gave her the paperwork. The funds never came. I called to follow up. Only then did she say, as if she’d just remembered, “Oh my God, Orla, I’ve been so busy, I forgot. You’re not mad at me, are you?” Because of that one “forgot,” my sister missed the donor match. The doctor said it had been her last chance at a compatible organ. The money never arrived. And neither did her last chance to live. That was the day I finally decided to get a divorce. I stopped Soren one last time at his study door. “Have your lawyer contact me tomorrow morning at ten.” Soren stopped and looked back at me, his gaze flat. “Orla, before you threaten me with divorce, maybe you should think about who you’re living off of right now.” “Your sister’s treatment is still going to cost money. And you’re carrying my child.” “Don’t turn this into something you can’t control.” As soon as he finished, his phone rang. He answered, his voice softening immediately. “Jessica, it’s not your fault. I made the rules. If she wants to blame someone, she can blame me.” “Don’t cry. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow. Anything you want.” I listened to him comfort her. A faint ache started in my lower abdomen. With everything happening to my sister, I had completely forgotten my prenatal checkup. Just then, my phone lit up. It was a reminder from the hospital: [Ms. Nolan, you are seven weeks pregnant. Please attend your prenatal appointment on time.]The next day, Soren’s lawyer never called. He didn’t reply to my message until noon. [Shopping with Jessica. Busy.] [If you really want a divorce, go through legal channels.] I didn’t reply. I went straight to the hospital. My sister lay in the bed, her fingers barely able to move. She was only five years older than me, but now she looked decades older. When she saw me, she still managed a weak smile. “Orla, I’m done. I don’t want any more treatment.” Tears pricked my eyes. “Don’t say that.” Our parents died young. My sister had raised me. She’d been so young herself, but she had worked to put me through school and taken care of everything. The doctor called me into the hallway. “It’s not looking good. We can’t delay any longer. You need to come up with the rest of the treatment costs as soon as possible.” I nodded and sold the wedding ring on my finger. After looking it over, the clerk offered me a humiliatingly low price. The moment the money hit my account, I saw Jessica’s Instagram. In the photo, she stood in front of a mirror in a Fifth Avenue boutique, grinning and clutching several Hermès shopping bags. The caption read: [Soren says I represent the company’s image, so he insisted on buying me these.] I stared at the picture for a long time, until the screen dimmed on its own. That afternoon, Jessica came to the hospital wearing a smug smile. “Orla, Soren asked me to come and confirm whether there’s any point in continuing your sister’s treatment.” “Money should be spent on people worth spending it on. I need to reevaluate this expense.” Before I could say anything, Soren appeared at the far end of the hallway. He stepped up beside Jessica, his tone indifferent. “Jessica is following my instructions.” “If you have a problem with it, take it up with me.” I asked him, “She doesn’t need approval to buy handbags, but my sister’s life needs approval?” Soren handed me a form. “What she spends is money I’m willing to give her. What you’re asking for is a household expense under my name. That’s different.” “If you want the money, fill out the form. If Jessica approves it, I will too.” I didn’t take it. He glanced at my stomach, his tone turning colder. “You’re pregnant. Stop dragging the baby through your drama.” Then he started to leave with Jessica. The next second, the doctor came running from my sister’s room. “We have a problem. The patient’s condition is worsening. She needs surgery immediately!”I waited outside the operating room for three hours before I finally got word that my sister was stable, for now. But the doctor still looked grave. “She’s only stable for the moment. She can’t stop the medication. Her body can’t take any more delays.” I nodded, my throat painfully dry. I used the last of my money to pay for her medication, then went downstairs to buy her some lunch. That was when I saw Soren and Jessica in the hospital cafeteria. Soren sat by the window, Jessica across from him. An elaborate lunch was spread across the table. Jessica noticed me first. She stood and walked over, smiling sweetly. “Orla, you’re here too.” “Soren said I’ve been exhausted lately organizing project materials, so he brought me out for a nice lunch.” “It’s all work-related. Don’t get the wrong idea.” I looked at Soren. “So apparently not every expense needs a reason.” Soren frowned. “Orla, don’t be sarcastic.” “Jessica has been doing great work lately. I took her out for a meal. Is that a problem?” I looked at him. “No problem. She kept me on such a tight leash. Of course you should reward her.” His face darkened. I didn’t look at him again. I turned and walked away. When I got back to the room, my sister was asleep. I sat beside her bed, looking at her gaunt face, and my chest ached. That night, I stayed in the room to watch over her. My phone lit up. Jessica had posted a new Instagram story. In the photo, a Cartier diamond necklace glittered at her throat under the lights of a charity gala. The caption read: [Thank you to Soren for the necklace. Tonight is mine.] I stared at that necklace for a long time. It was a style I had once loved. Last month, I’d lingered over it in the store for a few extra seconds. Soren had only said, “That kind of thing isn’t a necessity. It would need approval. There’s no point in buying it.” So it wasn’t that it wasn’t necessary. It just wasn’t necessary for me. After a while, I tapped ‘like’ on the story. Less than a minute later, Soren called. “Since you already liked it, don’t undo it. People will get the wrong idea about Jessica.” “Leave her a comment, too. Say she’s been working hard lately. Think of it as encouragement from both of us.” I thought for a moment, then opened the comment box and typed: [That necklace is beautiful. Soren has great taste. I almost bought the same one myself last month. Jessica, it looks lovely on you.] After posting it, I turned off my phone. Not long after, Soren called again. I stepped into the hallway and answered. Jessica’s sobbing came through first. “Orla, I really didn’t know you liked that necklace too…” “I just thought it wouldn’t be right to reject Soren’s kindness. If you leave a comment like that, what will people at the company think of me?” Then Soren spoke, his voice icy. “Orla, do you realize people at the company are already gossiping? After a comment like that, how is she supposed to work?” I said, “Then I guess there are still some people there who can see the obvious.” His voice dropped. “When did you become so cruel? Jessica worked hard to get where she is. You don’t work, you spend my money, and now you’re humiliating a woman who takes her job seriously?” I was about to answer— when the monitor in my sister’s room suddenly started blaring.

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