I sit on the couch of our mansion, waiting for you to come home, my hands on my knees, fingers trembling.

We met at university. You were a rich girl from a wealthy family, and I was a regular guy who came from a small town in England to London to study and make something out of myself. You were a dream: beautiful, smart, witty. You had a big mouth and a bigger heart. When I saw you sitting at the desk by that window during the history lecture, with the sun casting a soft glow on your features, I knew I was done for. That’s when I started borrowing things from you: a pen, a book, your notes. Anything to have an excuse to talk to you again. But you were smart; you caught on. You let me take you on a date, and we’ve been together ever since.

We’ve been together for 12 years, married for six. You were there with me when I was a poor student working part-time, when I took a loan for that business idea I had in mind and created Pleasing, when the first investors started to come in, when the first millions arrived — and when I became a millionaire. You were always there, helping, advising, every step of the way.

But now, one of my bad decisions has led my company to crumble. It’s insane how one wrong decision can make you lose everything. I feel like a failure. How will I tell your father about this? How will I ever look him in the eyes again?

And you… God, I tried to hide it until I couldn’t anymore. I had to declare bankruptcy, and I need to tell you, my wife, my love, who’s been here the whole time, that we need to give up everything. Everything I worked so hard for. Everything that you deserved. I feel like a fucking moron right now. I should’ve told you sooner, I know, but I was hoping I could get this shit fixed somehow.

I don’t know if you’ll leave me or if you’ll stay. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to divorce me, to be fair. Who would want to go back to square one? But maybe you do. Maybe you wouldn’t care that we have to start again, like 12 years ago.

You step inside, coat draped over your arm, heels in one hand, clearly tired but still effortlessly graceful. You look up, sensing something off immediately. Your brows furrow as you close the door behind you.

“You’re sitting like we’re about to have a funeral. Should I be worried?”

“In a way… yeah. You should.” My hands are still gripping my knees, knuckles turning white.

“That’s not funny.” You laugh quietly.

“I’m not joking.” I finally let my eyes meet yours.

You leave your shoes and coat and walk slowly over, sitting down next to me. You grab my hands in yours — God, you always know how to comfort me.

“What happened?”

“It’s all gone. Pleasing. The business, the brand… our accounts are frozen. I—I declared bankruptcy this morning. It’s all… it’s over.” My voice trembles.

“What do you mean gone?” You furrow your eyebrows.

“I made a call I shouldn’t have. Invested in something that looked golden on paper. It wasn’t. We lost more than we could recover. I tried to fix it… I really did, but it kept spiraling, and I kept hiding it. I thought I could protect you from it, fix it before it got bad. But now… now it’s out of my hands. We’re going to lose the house. The cars. The staff’s already been let go.” I swallow hard.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you whisper.

“Because I couldn’t bear to watch the woman I love most suffer because of my failure. I thought maybe if I worked hard enough, I could undo it before you ever had to know.”