Not because of a big fight.

high‑profile clients, officials, business leaders every day. And you? You’re just an ordinary housewife who only knows the kitchen and the bedroom.

You’re not on my level anymore. Bringing you to work events would only embarrass me. You can’t keep up with my world.

Stella sank into a dining chair. Her heart shattered as she read his honest but cruel confession.

Her mind flew back to the early years, when Gabe was still in law school and money was so tight that they split one meal between them because everything else went toward his textbooks.

It had been Stella who worked extra hours, sewing clothes for neighbors late into the night to help pay his tuition.

Stella who ironed his shirts, quizzed him on case law, made coffee when he wanted to give up.

Stella who sewed his first suit by hand for his job interview—because they couldn’t afford a tailored one yet.

Her thumbs shook as she typed.

Stella: You forgot who was with you from the very beginning. Who sewed your first suit for your job interview, Gabe? Who worked so you could finish school? It was me. Your wife.

The answer came almost before she could wipe her tears away.

Gabe: Don’t bring up the past. That was just a wife doing what a wife is supposed to do. I’ve already paid you back by giving you food and a decent place to live all this time.

So we’re even.

Listen carefully, Stella. At the hearing tomorrow, I want you to agree to all the divorce terms without objection.

As for assets—forget it. The house, the car, the savings… everything is in my name. You didn’t make any real financial contribution to buying them. So don’t expect to claim anything.

Stella stared at the screen, stunned.

The modest house they lived in? The down payment had come from her savings—money she’d earned sewing day and night before Gabe ever became successful.

Her fingers flew.