That night, I made a decision. If my family wouldn’t protect me, I’d protect myself. But I wouldn’t do it with anger or scenes or pleading. I’d do it with something far more powerful: patience, planning, and the kind of success that couldn’t be ignored.

If I left David the normal way, I’d lose everything. The prenup he made me sign was airtight. His lawyer buddy made sure of that. Assets divided based on financial contribution to the marriage. Since everything was in his name, since my salary went into accounts he controlled, I’d walk away with nothing. The house—his name on the deed, even though my grandmother’s inheritance paid the down payment. The cars—his. Even our daughter Sophie’s college fund was technically his investment portfolio.

“You’ll get standard visitation,” my first lawyer had said, reviewing the documents. “But custody? Unlikely. He’s established as the primary provider. Courts favor stability.”