Chapter 2

I went back to my office to pack my personal things. The space felt alien, like a room I was visiting for the first time. I put my favorite mug, a photo of my parents, and a few books into a small box.

The door flew open, and Mark Davis strode in. He didn't knock.

"You're not taking any company property," he said, his tone sharp and demanding. "That includes all the code on your personal laptop. You need to hand it over."

I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. Legally, the code developed for the company on company time was corporate property, but he had no right to demand my personal computer.

"This is my personal laptop, Mark," I said calmly.

"Sarah put me in charge," he sneered. "And I say it belongs to the company now. We need it for the Alpha project."

I looked past him and saw Sarah standing in the doorway, watching us. I raised my voice just enough for her to hear.

"Sarah? Is this what you want? You want me to hand over my personal computer?"

She hesitated for a second, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Then she looked at Mark, and her expression hardened. Her loyalty was clear.

"He's the CTO now, David," she said, her voice cold. "Just do what he says. Don't make things difficult."

She truly believed I was trapped. That I would never leave her or the company we built together. For years, our company was our "child." We had poured everything into it. It was the center of our lives.

I remembered last year when Mark had applied for a senior developer position. I reviewed his work and told Sarah he wasn't qualified. He was lazy, his code was sloppy, and he took shortcuts that created long-term problems. I vetoed his promotion.

"He's a good guy, David," she had argued. "You're too strict."

Now I understood. It was never about his qualifications. She wanted her lover by her side, in a position of power. This elaborate, cruel act of faking amnesia was all to achieve what I had blocked. She was willing to destroy our marriage and risk our company just to promote him.

A few of the other employees had gathered in the hallway, drawn by the confrontation.

"What's going on?" one of them, a senior engineer named Paul, asked. "Sarah, are you sure about this? David is..."

Sarah cut him off, her voice suddenly trembling. She put a hand to her bandaged forehead.

"Please, everyone. The doctor said I need to rest. I... I don't know who to trust. I just know Mark has been so kind to me since the accident."

She played her part perfectly, the fragile victim. The other employees looked from her to me, their expressions shifting from confusion to sympathy for her. I was now the villain, a cold-hearted husband harassing his sick wife.

Paul looked at me apologetically. "David, maybe just... let it go for now. She's not well."

I looked at Sarah's performance, at the faces of my colleagues who were so easily fooled. I felt nothing. The love I had for her, the passion for our work, it had all evaporated in that hospital corridor. All that was left was a cold, quiet calm. I was a spectator now, watching a play I already knew the ending to.