At eight months pregnant, I discovered my husband had completely drained my $48,000 emergency pregnancy fund. I checked his phone’s GPS and found out he was in Hawaii, chilling on a beach resort with his female co-workers. I booked a flight, flew straight there, and confronted him in front of them all. He just smirked, sipping a cocktail and saying: “A man has physiological needs; a pregnant wife at home is completely helpless to stop me.” He returned home days later sunburnt and laughing, but the locks were changed, and signed divorce papers were taped to the door of a house that now legally belonged to a complete stranger.
“Your property is in storage,” I said. “Unit 402 at SafeGate Storage. You have twenty-one days of prepaid rent. After that, they auction it off. I’d suggest you get your golf clubs early; I hear the market for used sports equipment is down.”
“Unlock the accounts, Claire. Now. I know you moved the money.”
