His Recipe, Their Ruin

The roar of the crowd was deafening, chanting the name of our brewery, "Chadwick Ales!" We' d just won the biggest award in the country for my beer, a recipe I' d perfected, a dream my wife Nicole and I built from the ground up. I was about to go on stage to accept our gold medal. But Nicole, my wife and CEO, stepped directly in front of me, blocking my path, and pulled her brand manager, Wesley, into the spotlight instead. He, the smooth-talking influencer who knew more about hashtags than hops, wrapped an intimate, possessive arm around her waist as cameras flashed, capturing them accepting my award. Afterward, Nicole flatly announced I was being forced into a "sabbatical" due to "rumors" about her and Wesley, claiming it was for my own good. Wesley, smirking, handed me a box containing my personal effects, including my precious recipe notebooks - the soul of our brewery. My heart didn' t just ache; it was a heavy, cold stone in my gut. The betrayal was so complete, so cold, I was left with only a quiet, resolute clarity. Then I went home to find Nicole and Wesley throwing a party in our house, celebrating their victory. It was all a game, she whispered, trying to placate me. But I was done playing. I reached into my jacket and pulled out the divorce papers I' d had drawn up weeks ago. I just needed a reason to sign them. And she had given it to me, cold and clear.