When I boarded my husband’s private jet, his secretary was sitting beside him in my usual seat, feeding him peeled oranges while his mother told me to be considerate. I didn’t argue.

because the alternative required admitting something I wasn’t ready to face.

Then my mother called.

Her first question was:

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Come home.”

I sat straighter.

“Why?”

“Your father thinks it’s time you stopped protecting Aaron.”

I closed my eyes.

My parents had watched me support my husband for years.

They had never liked the way Aaron minimized my role.

But I had defended him.

Constantly.

“How much does Dad know?”

My mother hesitated.

“About the money?”

“Yes.”

“The patents?”

“Yes.”

“All of it.”

That evening, I arrived