The champagne glasses were still raised when my husband stood up.

“Before we toast,” Daniel said, smiling at the twelve friends around our table, “I have an announcement. Grace and I are getting divorced.”

Someone laughed, thinking it was a joke. Daniel didn't.

“Ten years,” he went on, “and she has never contributed a single thing. Not to this marriage, not to my company. Vanessa understands ambition. Grace understands cooking.”

Vanessa, his marketing director, sat two seats away in a red dress. She lowered her eyes. I still saw the smile.

Every face turned to me, waiting for tears. It was our tenth anniversary, in the restaurant where he'd proposed. He'd chosen it on purpose.

I put my glass down, folded my napkin and stood.

“Congratulations, Daniel,” I said. “I hope Vanessa enjoys the company.”

He smirked. “Oh, she will. She's going to help me run it.”

He didn't notice I'd said the company, not your company.

I picked up my coat and walked out. Nobody followed me. Not one of the friends I'd cooked for and sent birthday cards to for a decade.

Outside, the cold air hit my face. My hands were steady.

In my bag, my phone buzzed. A message from my lawyer.

Board meeting confirmed. Friday, 10 a.m. They still don't know who the majority shareholder is.