I slid the final paper across the table. Page 142.

It was a photo from his secret account, posted 3 weeks ago. They were at the organic market downtown. The one where David told me he was running out to get fresh sourdough for our Sunday brunch.

In the photo, David had his arm wrapped tightly around Maya’s waist, and he was kissing her cheek while she laughed, holding a giant sunflower. The caption read: “Sundays are for my favorite person. The one who actually supports my soul.”

Maya made a small, choking sound.

“Ellen, please,” David pleaded. He reached for my hand, but I pulled it back. I didn’t want him to touch me. I felt like I was looking at a cartoon character, some fake version of a man.

“I want you both out of my house by noon,” I said. My voice didn’t shake once. I don’t know where that strength came from. Maybe it was the memory of all those nights I spent typing transcription until 3 AM while he slept, just to make sure we could pay our mortgage.

“You can’t just throw me out,” David said, trying to find his old, confident tone. “My name is on the deed, Ellen.”

“Actually, it’s not,” I said. “My parents helped with the down payment, and we put the house in my name for tax purposes. Remember? Your credit was too ruined from your college loans.”

He stared at me, his mouth slightly open. He had completely forgotten that detail.

I looked at Maya. She was crying now, tears silent and fast running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Ellen,” she whispered. “He told me you guys were getting divorced. He said it was already over.”

“I don’t care what he told you, Maya,” I said. “You lived under my roof.

You ate my food. You watched my daughter. You need to pack your things. Right now.”

She ran out of the kitchen, her slippers slapping against the stairs.

David sat there for another minute, looking at the printed pages scattered across the table. He looked small. He didn’t look like “David the Wild” anymore. He just looked like a middle-aged salesman who had ruined his life for a few thousand likes on an app.

I called my brother, Todd. Todd is a real estate attorney, and he had a very good friend who handled aggressive divorce cases in Columbus. Within 2 hours, Todd was sitting in my living room. He brought a notary with him.

But the real hammer came when we looked at our joint savings.

David had cleared out 12,000 dollars over the last 3 months. He had used it to pay for weekend hotel rooms for him and Maya, and to buy her a designer handbag that she had been showing off to her friends. My lawyer, Mr. Vance, didn’t play games. He filed an emergency motion to freeze David’s personal accounts.