Freedom.
As if the life we built had been some kind of prison.
As if I had been.
What I didn’t know at the time—but would find out soon enough—was that his version of freedom included draining our joint savings account and booking a trip to Cancun with a woman young enough to be our granddaughter.
Eighty-two thousand dollars.
Gone.
Just like that.
The next morning, I called a lawyer.
Her name was Carol Jensen. She wasn’t flashy. No glass office, no intimidating assistants. Just a quiet, sharp woman with a steady voice and eyes that missed nothing.
She listened while I told her everything.
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