The Police Showed Up Before My Husband Could

My robe hem caught on the leg of a chair; I kicked free and kept going.

In the bottom drawer of my desk sat a blue accordion file with labels in my own blocky handwriting.

Deed.

Insurance.

Trust paperwork.

Bank statements.

I had put it together last summer after Tom forgot, for the third time, to make a payment on one of his business credit cards and then continue reading …