On the day of the fake divorce, I was diagnosed with a "terminal illness"

Barry’s new secretary,

my husband’s new secretary,

posted a “depression diagnosis” on her social media.

The Photoshop job was laughably bad.

She had simply replaced the original name with her own.

That very day, after being away from home for days,

my husband rushed back

in less than thirty minutes.

He dropped to his knees in front of me,

crying so hard his voice cracked,

his forehead nearly slamming into the floor.

“Keira is sick.”

“I can’t divorce you. I can’t.

If I do, she’ll really kill herself.”

“Please. Let’s just have a fake divorce.