“Sign them. You’re already a mess—you’re an embarrassment to a CEO like me.”
With his arm around his secretary, he mocked,

“She’s the only one worthy of standing by my side.”
I signed without hesitation.

The next morning, her access card was deactivated.
I left the Chairman’s office and finally told her the truth.

The air in the private recovery suite at Hospital Ángeles del Pedregal in Mexico City was sterile, cold, and silent, interrupted only by the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft, synchronized breathing of two newborns in the transparent crib by the window.

I, Ana , lay in bed feeling as if my body had been taken apart and hastily stitched back together.
The cesarean section had been complicated; the twins were born prematurely, and the recovery was brutal.

My hair was drenched in sweat, my face was bare of makeup, my hospital gown was stained with traces of childbirth and the milk from my first attempts at breastfeeding.
I felt vulnerable, exposed, and utterly exhausted.

I was waiting for my husband.
I was waiting for Mauricio .

I expected flowers.
I expected tears of joy.
I expected the man I had supported for five years to walk through that door and look at our children with the same mixture of love and awe that filled my heart.

The door opened.

He didn’t come alone.

Mauricio entered, dragging with him the expensive scent of his imported cologne and the dry, invasive sound of high heels.

He was wearing an impeccable, custom-made Italian suit, looking exactly like the CEO of Grupo Vance México .
Behind him stood Claudia , his executive assistant.

Claudia was twenty-three years old. Radiant.
Fitted skirt, silk blouse, her hair perfectly styled, like she’d stepped out of a business magazine.

She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.
I looked like a lost cause.

Mauricio didn’t look at the crib.
He didn’t look at the twins.

Her eyes fixed on me and her lip twisted in a gesture of open repulsion.

“God…” he said in a flat voice. “Just look at you.”

She approached the bed, keeping her distance, as if my tiredness were contagious.

“Mauricio…?” I whispered. “The babies… have already been born.”

“I already saw them,” she said disdainfully, pointing vaguely toward the window without turning her head. “They’re fine. The nannies will come later.”

He opened his briefcase and took out a thick blue folder.
He threw it onto my chest.

The blow made me gasp in pain; it landed right on the surgical wound.

“What is this?” I asked, my hands trembling.

“Divorce papers,” he replied coldly. “And a confidentiality agreement. Sign them.”

The world bowed.

—Divorce? Mauricio, I just gave birth three hours ago…

“And look at you,” she spat. “You’re a mess, Ana. You have been for months. You’re fat, tired, and boring. You’re ruining my image.”

He took Claudia by the waist.
She let out a cruel giggle and rested her head on his shoulder, looking at me with feigned pity.

“I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar tech conglomerate,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I need a partner who reflects my status. Young. Presentable. Elegant. Claudia fits the bill.
You… you’re just a lucky housewife.”

I stared at him.

The man I loved.
The man I helped build.

He rewrote history without any shame.

“Are you leaving me… for her?” I asked firmly. “Because I look like a woman who just had surgery?”

“I’m leaving you because I’m over you,” she corrected. “Now sign. I’m not going to share my future millions with someone careless.”

I looked at the agreement.
Complete separation of assets according to legal ownership.

He believed that clause protected him.

I smiled inwardly.

“Are you sure, Mauricio?” I asked gently. “Once I sign, there’s no going back.”

He laughed.

—You have no power, Ana.

I picked up the pen.

-Very good.

Firm.

Ana Vance.

No tears.
No pleading.

—Congratulations—I said. You are free.

Mauricio took the papers with a greedy smile.

-At last.

He left with Claudia.

When the silence returned, I picked up the phone.

—This is Ana Vance. Code Black. Initiate the Leadership Transition Protocol. Immediately.

The next morning, Mauricio arrived at the corporate tower in Santa Fe .

Your card didn’t work.

—What do you mean, access denied?

The guards surrounded him.

—You are no longer the CEO, sir.

—Call the Chairman of the Council!

The VIP elevator doors opened.

I left.

In a wheelchair.
Impeccable white suit.
Hair pulled back.
Dark glasses.

Accompanied by the Legal Director and the Financial Director.

—Respect—said the lawyer—. You are standing before the President of the Council .

-That…?

I took off my glasses.

—When my father died, he left absolute control of the group to his daughter—I said. To me.

“I appointed you CEO,” I continued. “You never owned anything. Just an ungrateful employee.”

I showed him the agreement.

—You wanted total separation.
The company is in my name.
The penthouse is corporate.
The car is leased by the company.

“You’re fired,” I announced. “For improper conduct, misuse of resources, and damaging the company’s image.”

“You can’t!” he shouted.

The guards restrained him.

—And you too—I told Claudia—. Ten minutes to gather your things.

Mauricio fell to his knees.

—I am the father of your children…

—You chose to leave—I replied.—. Yesterday.

—Get him out of my building.

He was thrown out onto the street.
Without a car.
Without a home.
Without a job.

The people applauded.

I raised my hand.

—Time to get to work. There’s a lot to repair.

The elevator doors closed.

“Where to, Madam President?” they asked.

“To the council chamber,” I replied. “And then back to the hospital.
My children are waiting for me.”

And so, Ana returned to the top…
exactly where she had always belonged.