Our fifth anniversary night, I found my husband was cheating with my helper. He compelled me to give my business to him during our divorce. Our fifth anniversary night, I found my husband was cheating with my helper. I didn’t blink when he had me sign away my business after our divorce. He believed he won. He didn’t understand he’d fallen into my cleverly prepared trap.
As I buttoned my shirt, the early light streamed in through our high-rise bedroom windows. Daniel meticulously fixed his tie across the room, examining his reflection. After five years, seeing him still made my tummy flutter, but the butterflies were warning flags rather than romance.
I said, “Happy anniversary, love,” slipping my arms around his waist from behind. Five years. Can you believe?
He briefly patted my hands. When operating a commercial empire, time flies.”
My cheek rested on his back. “I considered closing the office early tonight. Celebrate properly?
“Can’t,” he said, checking his Rolex. “Big client dinner tonight. Maybe this weekend?
I smiled reluctantly. “Sure. This weekend.” Stepping back, I smoothed my pencil skirt. “I’ll head in later—still need to finish those cupcakes for the staff.”
I eventually caught his eye and he smiled briefly. She’s my gal. Always thoughtful.” A short kiss on the forehead and he was gone, briefcase swinging, leaving a faint aroma of expensive perfume and growing mistrust.
One week, four client meals. Four. Not naïve. Be patient. Finished both.
The unit we shared had city views. Sleek. Cold. Minimalist. As Daniel had become throughout the year. Olive & Sage, my Etsy-turned-international fashion company, paid for every aspect of it.
The phone buzzed.
MELISSA: “Later—traffic! Please arrive ASAP!”
Melissa was my assistant. She consistently arrived agitated but in time to escape penalties. I replied:
ME: No worries. I’ll manage everything till you arrive.”
I randomly surprised Daniel with coffee at work, maybe being romantic. Maybe even get a grin from him—a memory of our past.
It would remind me. Not the type I anticipated.
The workplace was silent. Much too early for most workers. As I exited with two cappuccinos and a bag of pastries, the elevator dinged quietly.
When I reached Daniel’s office, I heard laughing. Feminine. Breathless.
Familiar.
I slowed. His shades were slightly open.
Melissa sat on Daniel’s desk, skirt about her thighs, Daniel’s hand beneath her top, lips on her neck.
My feet froze. My breath caught, but no tears. I fell into an unsettling quiet like a tsunami ahead.
I dropped the coffees, splashing the ground. They didn’t hear.
Turned and left.
No tears.
I didn’t shout.
Plotting began.
Lawyer Jack Winters usually wore shoes with his suits and never minced words.
“So let me get this straight,” he replied, sitting back, “Daniel’s name is on everything?”
I nodded. “He convinced me to make him co-owner two years ago. Said it reassured investors. I allowed.”
Was he investing?
“No. He was pleasant. Persuasive. I fell in love.”
Jack clicked his pen. “And now you want divorce.”
I want divorce. I want to leave.”
Jack regarded me. Should you leave your company?
I gave him a heavy folder. “I started something new. Three months beforehand. Had a gut feeling. Founded a new brand. Different thing. I quietly recruited a skeleton crew—old personnel I trusted.”
Jack perused the papers. Rose & Wren? You do well.”
“I’m better than he allowed. And now? I’m done following his rules.”
I stood in our kitchen while Daniel perused the divorce papers a week later. Not looking up.
Is that it? Over one error?
I sliced onions slowly and precisely, saying, “It wasn’t one mistake.” The pattern was lengthy. This was the last insult.”
He threw papers on the counter. Olive & Sage aren’t mentioned.”
“I figured you’d bring that up,” I added, pulling another envelope from my purse. You get complete ownership.”
Eyes narrowed. “You’re giving me?”
“I am.”
He regarded the documents. “No catch?”
“No catch. You desire it, you get it.”
Daniel seemed nearly guilty. Then arrogance returned. “Perhaps this is best. Your emotions have always been too strong for this business.”
I grinned. “And you’ve always been a little too confident.”
We wrapped up at Jack’s office two weeks later. Daniel’s lawyer, a cocky gel-head with little forethought, smiled throughout.
“This is an unusually generous settlement,” he said.
“I just want a clean break,” I smiled.
Daniel looked triumphant as I signed. I gave him a tiny black gift box as he left the office.
Later, he opened it and discovered one scrawled line on paper:
This is all you deserved. Nothing.”
Rose & Wren quietly gained momentum three months later. My new studio was lively. All my top designers returned. Respectful suppliers. After-me clients.
No promotion for our launch.
It wasn’t necessary.
Word spread. Orders came in.
My production lead, Lisa, entered. “See this.” She gave me her tablet.
Olive & Sage’s customer page posted it. Complaints. Missed orders. Quality concerns. Late delivery.
“What happened to their supplier contracts?”
Lisa grins. “They died. The originals were highlighted to notify me. When he missed the renewal deadline…
“He didn’t know they were due.”
“Nope. He dismissed everyone in accounting. He desired a younger team.”
I drank tea. “He substituted experience with obedience. Classic.”
Jack called me later that day.
“It’s happening.”
“What?”
The IRS. The audit began. Their accounts are frozen.”
“Tax evasion?”
“Unpaid payroll taxes. The goods. Olivia, he cut shortcuts too much.”
“He always did.”
Daniel and I met at a coffee shop six months later. He seemed tiny. Slouched. Diminished.
He whispered, “Olivia,” quietly.
“Daniel.”
My name was called after we started. Get my drink, turn back.
“How have you been?” he inquired.
“Better.”
I heard about Rose&Wren. People call it the next big thing.”
I grinned. “People talk a lot.”
He stroked his neck. Olive & Sage declares bankruptcy.”
“I know.”
He glanced at me, suspicious. “You planned this, right?”
I prepared. They differ.”
“You duped me.”
“No,” I whispered. “You underrated me.”
His jaw tightened. Melissa left. She lost allegiance when the money ran out.”
It’s unfortunate.”
“You left. From everything.”
“I left you.”
He remained silent.
I continued, “I was never too emotional for business. Your insecurity prevented you from working with a lady who saw through you.”
I halted before leaving.
“You know the problem, Daniel? You believed in brand value. In logo. The office.”
He seemed bewildered.
But I was valuable. You never possessed that.”
Lisa and my staff and I enjoyed supper in our freshly restored rooftop garden that night. Summer laughter flooded the air as string lights twinkled above us.
As the wine flowed and the tales became louder, I gazed about at my chosen people—people who believed in me.
Not once did I require a suit-clad guy to validate myself.
He believed he took everything, but I rebuilt it.
As I lifted my glass to celebrate our rising empire, I realized: I didn’t get payback.
I was released.
That was more powerful than any small score I could settle.
Because Daniel lost more than the company.
The one thing he could not replace was lost.
Me.
