Reggie’s office smelled like coffee and toner. The receptionist greeted me warmly and pointed me down the hall when I said I wanted to surprise him.

As I approached his office, laughter drifted through the partially open door.

Then I heard Reggie’s voice.

“She doesn’t ask questions,” he said, chuckling. “She trusts me. Always has.”

A woman laughed softly—someone I didn’t know.

“Once the expansion is finalized,” Reggie continued, “I won’t have to pretend anymore. She’ll never see it coming.”

I stood frozen, Malik heavy in my arms, as every dream I’d carried into the building collapsed. In that instant, I understood something with terrifying clarity: the man I was ready to share my miracle with had been planning a future without me.

I didn’t confront him. I didn’t open the door. I walked away quietly—my hope replaced by resolve.

Over the next few days, I said nothing. I contacted a lawyer. I placed the lottery winnings into a trust under my maiden name. I gathered proof that Reggie had been hiding assets, diverting funds, and preparing to leave once his business reached a certain level of success.

By the time he noticed my calm, my confidence, the way I stopped asking permission—it was already too late.

PART 3: Choosing Myself

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