“Take your brat and go to hell,” my husband hissed at my 7-year-old during our 10 AM divorce hearing. “The ruling is finalized. He gets everything,” his lawyer smirked.

“No, Daniel. Regret is what happens when you lose by accident.”

His face drained completely.

“This was math.”

Two months later, Daniel’s empire collapsed in headlines—insurance fraud, tax evasion, money laundering, witness intimidation. His clinics were placed under receivership. Voss resigned before the disciplinary board could force him out. Elise’s charity dissolved, her luxury apartment seized, her friends suddenly unreachable.

Daniel took a plea when Mara testified.

He got seven years.

On the morning his sentence was announced, Noah and I moved into a sunlit house near the river. Smaller than the mansion. Warmer. Ours.

He chose the room with yellow walls.