The first snowfall of winter was drifting down as my divorce battle with Simon Howe was nearing its end.

He had been dragging his feet, refusing to sign the papers.

I was left with no choice.

I had to press forward with the divorce proceedings.

For the past three months, nearly every morning, I received a long letter of apology.

There was no need to guess who they were from.

I didn’t read them.

I bundled them up and tossed them straight into the trash.

On the day the court ruling finally came through, I walked away with the lion’s share of Simon Howe’s assets.

Five downtown properties, several luxury...