Six months ago, I would have. Six months ago, the thought of this marriage failing was a terror that held me captive. That was before I found the second set of books for his company. Before the systematic withdrawals. Before I understood he was meticulously stripping our shared life down to the studs, transferring every valuable asset into accounts bearing his name alone. The moment my questions began, his kindness curdled into something vicious. Tonight wasn’t just an escalation; it was his final, fatal mistake.