The date stamp on the photo is July of last year. That was the week Mark supposedly flew to Chicago for a three-day logistics conference. I remember crying because I had to spend our anniversary alone that week. I walked into the smaller bedroom. It had pink walls.
On the wall, taped with purple painter’s tape, was another drawing. This one was different. It was a drawing of a woman with short blonde hair like mine, with a big red X scribbled over her face. In a child’s shaky handwriting, the text said: The lady Daddy goes home to.
She doesn’t know we are his real family. Suddenly, I heard a car door slam outside. I panicked. I ran to the living room and hid behind the heavy velvet curtains near the bay window. Through the gap, I watched a woman in a green coat walk up the steps, holding the hands of two small children.
They walked inside. The little girl, Emma, said, “Mommy, did Daddy leave his gym bag again? He said he had to go back to his work house.” The mother sighed and said, “Yes, sweetie. Daddy has to work a lot of overtime to pay for our Disney trips.” I waited until they were settled in the kitchen, then I quietly slipped out the front door.
I got into my car and drove straight to the bank. I sat down with a manager named Deborah. We looked at the retirement account. For seven years, there had been a recurring monthly transfer of $1,400 to a private account in Mark’s name. A total of $117,600.
It was the money we had saved for our Lake Erie cottage. I went home and sat at the kitchen table.
I placed the Disney photo, the bank statements, and the drawing of the woman with the red X on the table. Mark walked in at 5:30 PM, smelling of soap and cheap gym cologne.
He looked at the table. He went pale. He didn’t yell. He sat down, looked at me, and said, “Brenda doesn’t have a career, Sarah. She needed a place for the kids. You have your job, your pension. We were fine. I didn’t think you’d mind sharing a little of what we had.” He actually believed his own logic.
He thought because I was independent and we didn’t have children, it was only fair to give our retirement money to his other children. I filed for divorce the next morning. My lawyer was ruthless. The court ordered the house on Elm Street to be sold, and Mark was forced to repay the entire $117,600 back into my sole account from his share of our assets.
Brenda found out that Mark was married the whole time. He had told her I was his landlord and business partner who owned the house he stayed at for work. Brenda left him, taking the kids back to her parents in Indiana. The plot resolved with total justice, but my feelings remained flat.
Now, I sit in my quiet kitchen on a Tuesday night, eating a simple bowl of pasta. The money is back in my account, but the house is still just a quiet house. I am moving forward, but it is not a magical victory. It is just life, happening one ordinary day at a time.
