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The day I found out I was having triplets, I was sitting on a plastic chair in a public clinic, calculating the cost of baby formula. My phone buzzed with a new email. Sender: Liam Wright. The body of the email was just one line: *"The contract has expired. $10 million has been settled. Move out by the end of the month."* I stared at the screen for exactly three seconds. Then, I tapped reply and typed word for word: *"Received. No need to wait until the end of the month. I'll leave tomorrow. I've already booked the notary."* Ten million dollars. Three kids. That’s over $3.3 million per child. More than enough. The day I signed the papers, I walked out of the Wright mansion with nothing but a backpack. The sun outside was shining beautifully. Later, a rumor spread like wildfire through the entire medical elite: Liam Wright, the cold and untouchable CEO of Wright Medical Group, was tearing the city apart, hacking every security camera just to find the ex-wife who took his ten million dollars and vanished into thin air. There were about seven or eight people waiting outside the ultrasound room at the local clinic. I had the last ticket of the day. The cold gel on the ultrasound wand made my stomach flinch. The doctor stared at the monitor, her expression shifting from routine boredom to deep confusion, and finally, to utter shock. She moved the wand around, double-checking from multiple angles. "Did you conceive naturally?" she asked. "Yes." She took off her glasses, wiped them, put them back on, and looked again. "Three. There are three gestational sacs. All with strong heartbeats." My brain short-circuited. Triplets. My legs felt like jelly as I walked out of the room. I slumped into a hard plastic chair in the hallway, pulled out my phone, and opened the calculator app. Formula: $300 a month per baby. Times three... $900. Diapers: $150 a month per baby. Times three... $450. Prenatal checkups, prenatal vitamins, future daycare costs... The numbers on the screen spiraled out of control. I closed the app and stared blankly at the stained ceiling tiles for a while. A notification popped up at the top of my screen. *New Email. Sender: Liam Wright.* I froze for a second. Liam Wright. The man I had found through an elite matchmaking agency—my contracted husband. He *never* emailed me. If he needed something, he always had his assistant relay the message, or he left a sticky note on the kitchen island. I tapped it open. *Subject: Termination of Contract.* The body was painfully brief: *"Ms. Sienna: After careful consideration, I am terminating our marriage contract early. Attached is the dissolution agreement and the financial settlement plan. Settlement amount: $10,000,000 USD. Please vacate the premises by the end of the month. If you have any objections, contact my lawyer, Mr. Sterling. — Liam."* Ten million dollars. I gripped my phone, goosebumps erupting across my back. Not from the cold. From pure, unadulterated joy. I opened the reply box. My fingers were astonishingly steady. *"Hello Dr. Wright. Received. I will book the notary. No need to wait until the end of the month. Are you free tomorrow? Let's get it done tomorrow."* Send. I rested the phone on my knee and looked toward the grimy window at the end of the hall. Slowly, the corners of my lips curled up. Triplets. Ten million dollars. I looked down and gently touched my flat stomach, lowering my voice so only I could hear. "Over three million for each of you. Mommy's got you. You're set for life." *** The next morning, at the notary office. I purposely picked a location as far away from the Wright family's territory as possible—the third floor of a rundown corporate building across town. Liam didn't show up. His private lawyer, Mr. Sterling, came instead. Gray suit, black-rimmed glasses, clutching a manila folder under his arm. "Ms. Sienna, here is the dissolution agreement and the settlement breakdown. Please review them. Mr. Wright has granted me full power of attorney." I took the thick stack of papers and flipped straight to the last page. Party A's signature line was already stamped with the law firm's seal, accompanied by a letter of authorization. I picked up the cheap ballpoint pen on the desk and signed my name on Party B's line. Mr. Sterling's eyes flickered behind his glasses. "Ms. Sienna, aren't you going to read the terms? There are clauses regarding future..." "No need. As long as the ten million hits my account, we're good." I slid the agreement back to him. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He had probably prepared an entire playbook for today: *What to do if she cries. What to do if she throws a tantrum. What to do if she demands to see Liam.* All utterly useless. When I walked out of the building, a light drizzle had started. I opened my folding umbrella and took a deep, cleansing breath. *** I chose high noon to go back to the Wright mansion to pack. Liam's mother was at the spa, his sister Chloe was at college, and the maid was taking a nap in her quarters. No one noticed me. I didn't have much. It all fit into a single backpack. Only the right half of the guest room closet had ever belonged to me—a few out-of-season clothes, two books, and a toiletry bag. The door to the master bedroom next door was half-open. I hadn't stepped foot in that room in a year. Before leaving, I cast one last glance at his nightstand. There was a bottle of stomach medication resting on it. Liam had a terrible stomach. He would come out of back-to-back surgeries and survive purely on black coffee. Once, I got up in the middle of the night for water and heard noises coming from his room. The door wasn't fully shut. Through the crack, I saw him hunched over on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping his knee, his face terrifyingly pale. The next day, I bought a bottle of medicine and left it outside his bedroom door. After that, whenever it was running low, I would secretly replace it with a new one. He probably thought the maid bought them. I walked in, picked up the bottle, and checked it. About a third left. I put it back down. *The last bottle. Once it's gone, it's gone.* I left my hospital staff ID and the spare house keys on the entryway shoe cabinet. I didn't leave a note. The heavy front door clicked shut behind me, the sound soft and final. I walked out of the gated community with my backpack slung over my shoulder. The subway station was three hundred yards away. I walked at an even, unhurried pace. When I swiped my transit card at the turnstile, the machine beeped, and the green arrow lit up. Suddenly, I thought that little beep was the most beautiful sound in the world. It sounded exactly like clearing the final level of a game.

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