Three thousand dollars a month. He was spending more on her rent than we made in a month of joint income. “What do you want to do?” Jim asked me. I closed the cream folder. I felt very calm. It was a strange, heavy kind of calm.
“I want my money back,” I said. On Monday morning, I walked into the Huntington Bank branch on Secor Road. I had the joint account paperwork in my hand. I transferred every single cent of our remaining joint savings into a new account solely in my name. It was $214,000. Then I went to a divorce attorney named Robert. He drafted the filing papers in two hours.
“He’s going to claim half of this,” Robert warned me, pointing to the transfer receipt. “Let him try,” I said. “We have the forensic audit showing he stole $140,000 from our retirement to pay for another woman’s apartment. The judge is going to have a field day with that.” On Tuesday morning, I took the day off. Dave was supposed to be in Troy until Wednesday afternoon. I called a local locksmith. He arrived at 9 AM and replaced every deadbolt on our house.
Then I went to the closet. I took Dave’s two cheap Men’s Wearhouse suits. I hung them on plastic hangers and carried them out to the front porch. I hooked them over the porch railing. I sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and waited. At 2 PM, I heard a car pull into the driveway. It wasn’t his usual company car. It was a brand-new, shiny black SUV. Dave got out. He was wearing a navy blue designer suit that looked like it cost more than my Buick. He walked up the porch steps, carrying a leather briefcase. He stopped when he saw his two old suits hanging on the railing. I watched him through the small window in the front door. He looked confused. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys, and tried to insert them into the deadbolt. It didn’t fit. He tried again, turning the key harder. I opened the door, keeping the brass security chain slid into place. Dave looked up, his face red from the chilly wind. “Sarah? What’s wrong with the lock? My key isn’t working.” “The lock is fine, Dave,” I said through the crack. “I had it replaced.” He stared at me. “Why would you do that?” I reached down and picked up a copy of the divorce papers. I slid them through the gap in the door.
