I was forty one years old and a highly successful real estate investor in Philadelphia when I made the worst decision of my life by ending my seven year
marriage to my wife Penelope. I deposited one hundred fifty million dollars into her bank account as compensation and sent her a cold message stating my desire for a divorce so we could move on separately. I prided myself on making swift business decisions and viewed this separation through that same detached lens. Penelope had always been a gentle woman who found joy in simple things like tending to her plants and leaving handwritten notes in my briefcase. I had grown blind to her warmth and started a secret relationship with a business consultant named Sloane Prescott. I also harbored a deep secret of my own. Four years into our marriage I secretly underwent a medical procedure to prevent pregnancy because the thought of having
children terrified me and threatened my sense of control. I allowed Penelope to spend two painful years visiting fertility specialists believing her own body was failing her.
