I never told my husband I had inherited 10 million dollars. Before I could even find the words to tell him, he stared at me coldly and said, “I’m done supporting someone with no job. Get out.” Then he walked away—leaving me in labor, shaking with pain and disbelief, abandoned at the moment I needed him most. The next day, he appeared at the hospital as if nothing had happened. But when his new wife saw me, her face drained of color. She whispered, trembling, “She… she’s my CEO.” My husband froze. His voice cracked. “That’s impossible…” In one weekend, my entire life was rewritten. Later that afternoon, I heard confident footsteps in the hallway. Derek walked into my hospital room like nothing had happened—wearing a fresh haircut, a smug smile, and acting like he had every right to be there.lawyer told me something I couldn’t process: he had left me ten million dollars. The attorney warned me to keep it strictly private until the paperwork was finalized in a few days. I planned to tell my husband, Derek, after the delivery. Derek had been consumed by financial stress for months. He had started snapping over small things, but I kept convincing myself it was just fear, just pressure, just nerves about becoming a father. But that night, while I was folding tiny baby clothes, Derek stared at me like I was a burden he had been carrying too long. His voice turned ice cold. “I can’t afford to support a jobless person anymore,” he spat out. “Get out.” I laughed at first, thinking it had to be some cruel joke. I was eight months pregnant on doctor-ordered bed rest because the pregnancy was high-risk. Derek knew that. He just didn’t care. “I’m in labor soon,” I whispered, trying not to panic. Derek grabbed his car keys, furious and indifferent. “Not my problem. I’m done.” And then he walked out. Just like that. Hours later, my water broke. I drove myself to the hospital, trembling, in searing pain, and terrified. When a nurse quietly said, “Honey… you and your baby are all that matter now,” the truth hit me hard. I delivered my son early the next morning. Exhausted, emotional, and numb, I stared at his tiny face and realized something: Derek didn’t abandon me because he was stressed. He abandoned me because he could. Later that afternoon, I heard confident footsteps in the hallway. Derek walked into my hospital room like nothing happened—wearing a fresh haircut, a smug smile, and acting like he had every right to be there. But he wasn’t alone. A woman stepped in behind him. She looked expensive—designer coat, flawless makeup, confident eyes. She glanced at me, then looked at Derek and said, clear as day: “Derek, you said you wanted to impress the owner? Well… She is my CEO.” Derek froze in absolute horror.