“Ten million,” I said with a grin. “Fake, of course. Just a prop.”

She laughed, but her hands lingered on the handle. “You trust me with it?”

“Of course,” I said. “You’re my wife.”

She said she’d stash it in the closet for the night. I went to bed feeling like a king.

The next morning, she was gone. So was the bag. Her phone—dead. In the kitchen, just a folded note:

Thanks for the money, babe. I’m starting over with my boyfriend. Good luck starting from scratch. — Ria

I stood there for a second, stunned. Then I laughed. Loud and long.