Daniel looked successful in the shallow way a tailored suit and an expensive watch can make an insecure man seem important.
For twelve years, I had stood beside him at charity galas, investor dinners, corporate events, family celebrations, and fundraising parties.
Everywhere we went, he introduced me the same way.
“My wife, Claire.”
Never:
“My strategist.”
Never:
“The woman who rescued my company twice.”
Never:
“The person whose decisions kept me from bankruptcy.”
During the divorce, Daniel demanded almost everything he thought mattered.
The beach house.
The cars.
The artwork.
The Chicago apartment.
He assumed I had lost because I never fought him for any of it.
My attorney, Miriam, asked me more than once whether I wanted her to push for a larger settlement.
Each time, I gave her the same answer.
“No. Let him sign exactly what he believes he’s winning.”
So Daniel signed.
