I came home to find my husband throwing my clothes into the yard. “You’re fired!” he shouted. “Now you’re just a leech! Get out of my house!” I didn’t pick up a thing. I just took out my phone and made a single call. “I’ll take the position,” I said calmly. “But only on one condition—fire Robert.” Thirty minutes later, a black luxury car pulled up. The chairman’s secretary stepped out, walked straight to me, and bowed. “The chairman agrees to your terms, ma’am. Please come sign your contract.” My husband froze…

Part 1: The “Unemployed” Cover
The first day of my unemployment was bliss.

I was in my walk-in closet, a space larger than some city apartments, surrounded by the ghosts of my former life: rows of immaculate silk blouses, a phalanx of razor-sharp blazers, and a collection of designer heels that had clicked with a quiet, confident authority on the marble floors of one of the world’s top consulting firms. Today, however, I was wearing faded yoga pants and a well-worn college t-shirt, methodically sorting the entire collection into three distinct piles: Keep, Store, and Donate.

This was my one week of silence. A single…