I put up with my husband's cheating because I needed money for my brother's medical bills.
Until I found the heart donor report he'd been hiding in his study for three months. 98% match. He'd signed it "postpone."
That night, fireworks filled the London sky, his mistress laughing in the background. Standing over my brother's body, I finally got it—he'd been killing my brother all along.
I ripped up his check, sold every piece of jewelry he'd ever given me, and threw the divorce papers in his face.
"Murderer"—that's all I said.
Three years later, I'm getting a standing ovation at the Golden Hall. He shows up in the snow, eyes red, begging for forgiveness.
I just smiled. "Charles, you died three years ago."
