“What do you mean I cannot go in, that is my house,” I replied, my grip tightening around the phone.
“Not anymore,” he said, almost casually, “I changed the locks and I already filed for divorce.”
I remember exactly how my hand trembled in that moment, but my voice stayed controlled in a way that surprised even me. “Excuse me?”
“It is for your own good,” he continued, sounding almost patronizing, “you were too focused on work and travel and your own priorities, and this was only going to get worse, so my mother and I agreed it was better to end things now.”
His mother, Denise, had always wanted me out of his life because she never accepted that I earned more than her son and that the house was in both our names. What bothered her most was that I understood contracts, numbers, and evidence in a way she could not manipulate.
