The Deal of a Lifetime Made Me a Millionaire—And Cost Me My Marriage (3 of 4)

The next morning shattered that illusion.

Sienna was gone. Not just out grabbing coffee or walking the dog—gone. Her closet was empty. Every trace of her—vanished. Jewelry case, phone chargers, toothbrush. Even the wine glass from the night before had been rinsed and put away.

And the bag? Of course, it was gone too.

Panic hit slowly at first, like a dream I couldn’t shake. I tried calling her. Straight to voicemail. Again and again.

I checked our accounts. The emergency savings had been drained. She hadn’t touched the escrow—she didn’t need to. She took the one thing that made the win real to me: the symbol of my success.

On the kitchen counter, where she usually left my morning coffee, sat a single folded note. No name. No explanation. Just four words scribbled in her careful handwriting:

“I thought you knew.”

I read it five times. Ten. It never made more sense.

Looking back now, there were signs. Distance in her voice. Questions about trust. Lingering looks at a life she didn’t want anymore. But I was too focused on the climb to notice she’d already started packing for the descent.

She didn’t steal the money. She took her exit.

And left me holding the deal of a lifetime… alone.