I went to visit my sister’s newborn son, but before I reached her hospital room, I heard my husband whispering to her. “Our son will have my last name,” he said. “Claire is only useful because she pays for everything.”

The trap was fully built; now, I just needed an audience. Derek’s promotion at the firm was supposed to be announced on Friday, a milestone he thought would give him the financial freedom to leave me and fund his new life. I decided it was time to celebrate and booked a private dining room at The Luminaire, the most exclusive restaurant in the city. I sent out formal invitations to Derek, Valerie, and my mother. Derek was thrilled, and my mother even called to praise my generosity for including Valerie, completely unaware that Valerie’s isolation was likely due to the eviction notice taped to her door that morning.

I spent Friday afternoon at a salon, getting my hair blown out and buying a sharp, tailored black suit. I didn’t want to look like a grieving wife; I wanted to look like an executioner. At 6:00 PM, I met Lauren at a coffee shop down the street. She handed me three thick manila envelopes containing the filed divorce papers, the submitted fraud reports, and proof that the firm had been anonymously notified with the flash drive evidence. “By the time he wakes up tomorrow, his life will be over,” Lauren said, asking if I was sure I wanted to do this face-to-face. I nodded. I needed to look them in the eye and let them know I had known all along.

I walked into The Luminaire, my heart steady and my mind at peace. I was about to burn down my own house, but for the first time in years, I was no longer afraid of the fire. The maître d' led me to the private room where Derek, Valerie, and my mother were already laughing and drinking champagne. They looked exactly like a family. I pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped inside. The laughter immediately stopped. The show was about to begin.