David looked at the officers, then at me. His face went completely white. “What is this? This is a mistake. I didn’t do anything!”

They didn’t argue with him. They pulled his arms behind his back, and the metal handcuffs clicked shut in our kitchen.

He looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and anger.

“How could you do this to me?” he yelled as they led him toward the door. “We’re family!”

I didn’t answer him. I just stood by the counter, holding my mug of coffee, watching him get pushed into the back of an unmarked patrol car.

It turned out Elaine Carter was living in a small cabin near the Michigan border, hiding under a false name while David managed the insurance scheme. They had planned to split the $400,000 and run away to Costa Rica. They had been planning it for years, waiting for the fifteen-year contestability period on the policy to run out.

Yesterday, I took his clothes out of our bedroom and packed them into garbage bags. I carried his bright blue gym bag down to the driveway and tossed it into the bin. It felt incredibly good to watch the garbage truck carry it away.

I still live in our small house in Toledo. The bills are tight, and the divorce lawyers are expensive, but the air in my home finally feels clean. I don’t have to wonder where anyone is going at 6 AM anymore. My future belongs to me now, and for the first time in a very long time, I am looking forward to Saturday morning.