He thought he was clever. He thought because he was the “man of the house,” I blindly paid whatever bills he put in front of me without checking the routing numbers. But he forgot who he married.

I gathered every piece of evidence. The forged documents, the offshore account routing numbers, the recorded phone calls with the clinic confirming he had fraudulently used my Medicare card—a federal crime. I compiled it into a beautiful, meticulously tabbed binder.

Yesterday, I handed that binder to the best fraud and divorce attorney in the state. Tomorrow, while Richard is at his “therapy” appointment, spinning tragic tales about my failing mind, the moving trucks will arrive. By the time he gets home, the house will be empty, his bank accounts will be frozen by a court order, and a federal investigator will be waiting for him on the front porch.

Numbers don’t lie. But husbands do. And this bookkeeper just balanced the ledger.