Chapter 1

"That will be two dollars and fifty cents," the ice cream vendor said, a cheerful smile on his face.

My daughter, Lily, looked up at me, her eyes wide with excitement as she pointed at a cone piled high with rainbow sprinkles.

I reached into my purse, but before my fingers could find my wallet, a cold voice cut through the warm afternoon air.

"What do you think you' re doing, Ava?"

I turned. Leo, my husband, stood there, his arms crossed over his expensive suit jacket, his face a mask of disapproval.

"I' m buying Lily an ice cream," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"With what money?" he asked, his voice low but sharp enough for the people nearby to turn and stare. "Is that from the joint account? We agreed. Fifty-fifty on everything. Did you transfer your half for this dessert?"

My face burned with shame. He was shaming me, publicly, over two dollars and fifty cents. For our daughter.

"It' s just ice cream, Leo," I pleaded softly, trying to shield Lily from his anger.

"It' s the principle," he snapped. "I will not have a gold-digger for a wife. You know the rules." He pulled out his own wallet, handed a five-dollar bill to the vendor, and then looked back at me. "Consider this an advance. I expect you to transfer me one dollar and twenty-five cents by tonight. I' ll be checking."

He turned and walked away without another word, leaving me and Lily standing there in humiliated silence. The vendor avoided my eyes as he handed Lily her cone.

This wasn' t new. This was our life. But that afternoon, something inside me finally broke.

Later that evening, as I was putting Lily to bed, I overheard Leo on the phone in his study. His voice, so cold and cutting with me, was now warm and indulgent.

"Of course, Sophia. You liked the red one? I' ll have it delivered to your new place tomorrow," he was saying. "The penthouse? Don' t worry about the furniture, I' ve already taken care of it. Just pick out whatever you want."

Sophia was his stepsister. A few days ago, he had bought her a brand-new luxury sports car. Now, he was giving her a penthouse apartment. She was turning eighteen soon, and he treated her like a princess, showering her with gifts that cost more than I had earned in the last five years combined. He paid for her life, her whims, her everything.

But he demanded I pay for half of our daughter' s ice cream.

The contrast was so stark, so cruel, it felt like a physical blow. The love and generosity he was capable of were real, they just weren' t for me or for his own child. They were reserved for someone else.

After Lily was asleep, I didn't go to our bedroom. I went to my small art studio in the corner of the house, a space that felt like my only sanctuary. I sat down at my desk, opened my laptop, and searched for "divorce papers."

I downloaded the forms. I filled in my name, his name, and the date of our marriage. Each keystroke felt heavy, final.

When I finally went to the bedroom, he was reading in bed. He didn't look up when I placed the printed stack of papers on his nightstand.

"What' s this?" he asked, his eyes still on his book.

"Our divorce," I said. My voice was steady, empty of the tears I' d been holding back all day.

He finally looked up, an expression of sheer disbelief on his face. He actually laughed, a short, ugly sound. "A divorce? Don' t be ridiculous. Is this about the car I bought Sophia? Are you that jealous?"

"It' s about the ice cream," I said.

He scoffed, tossing the papers aside as if they were trash. "The ice cream? You want to end our marriage over two dollars and fifty cents? Ava, you' re being hysterical."

Our life was a ledger. From the day we got married, Leo, a wealthy tech entrepreneur, had insisted on a strict 50/50 split of all joint expenses. Groceries, utilities, even a dinner out. I was a struggling artist, and he knew it. He called it "fairness" and a way to ensure I wasn't with him for his money. I was young and in love, and I agreed, not understanding that it was just the first brick in the wall he was building between us.

When I became pregnant with Lily, I was so sick I had to stop working. He called my lost income an "inconvenience." After Lily was born, things got worse. The grand house we lived in, which he had bought before we were married, he declared was his sole expense. It was his grand gesture of generosity. In return, I was to cover all of Lily' s expenses. All of them. Diapers, formula, clothes, doctor' s visits. He called it "balanced."

I had to take on freelance graphic design projects, working late into the night while the baby slept, just to make ends meet. When Lily had a high fever and had to be rushed to the emergency room, the bill was thousands of dollars. I asked him for help. He looked at me, his face impassive, and said, "She is your responsibility, Ava. We agreed." I had to borrow money from my parents, swallowing my pride and my shame.

Our marriage wasn't a partnership. It was a cold, cruel business arrangement where I was the perpetual debtor.

Sophia, his stepsister, had moved in with us a year ago after her parents died. Leo' s affection for her was immediate and overwhelming. He indulged her every whim. While Lily battled pneumonia and I sat by her hospital bed alone, Leo was taking Sophia on a shopping spree to Paris.

One evening, I walked into the living room to find them on the couch. Sophia was laughing, leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. It was a little too close, a little too familiar. As I watched, she turned her head and kissed him on the cheek, a lingering, provocative kiss.

"Leo treats me like a daughter," she said, looking straight at me with a triumphant smirk. "He gives me everything I want."

Leo just smiled, patting her hand. He didn't see the malice in her eyes. Or maybe he just didn't care.

Heartbroken and feeling like an intruder in my own home, I retreated to Lily' s room and held my sleeping child, the only source of warmth in that cold, empty house.