Chapter 5: The Woman Who Moved Here
I needed to talk to someone.
Not to vent — I wasn't ready for that.
I needed someone who could think clearly and who wouldn't panic on my behalf.
I called my sister, Lynn.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Hey.
What's wrong?"
"Why do you assume something's wrong?"
"Because you never call before nine on a weekday.
Talk to me."
I told her everything.
The key card.
The bag in the trunk.
Rachel's call.
Ava's description.
The second phone.
The messages.
The photo.
The LinkedIn profile with the Chicago location that no longer matched.
Lynn didn't say anything for a moment after I finished.
"How are you holding it together right now?" she finally asked.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"I think I'm still in the part where it doesn't feel real."
"Okay." Her voice shifted — steadier, practical.
"Don't confront him yet.
Not until you know what you want."
"That's what I thought."
"Do you have a lawyer?
Anyone you could call just to understand where you stand?"
"Not yet."
"I know someone," Lynn said.
"She handled my friend Carol's divorce two years ago.
She's sharp and she doesn't mess around.
I'll send you her number.
Don't call David's office.
Don't call Melissa.
Don't do anything that lets him know you know.
Not yet."
"I won't."
"And keep that second phone exactly where it is," Lynn said.
"Don't move it.
Don't confront him about it.
That thing is evidence."
After we hung up, I felt fractionally steadier.
Not better.
But less alone in it.
I got Ava to school, came home, and sat at the kitchen table with Lynn's contact — a family attorney named Patricia Hale — and my phone in my hand.
I made the call.
Patricia's assistant put me through within ten minutes.
"Tell me what you have," Patricia said, after I'd given her the basics.
I told her about the second phone, the messages, the key card, the photographs I'd taken.
"Good," she said.
"The photographs are useful.
The phone itself is better, but we work with what we have.
Has he given you any reason to believe he's moving money or hiding assets?"
The question caught me off guard.
"I don't know.
I don't think so."
"Do you have access to your joint accounts?"
"Yes."
"Log in today and take screenshots of the current balances.
All of them.
Savings, checking, any investment accounts you're both named on.
Do it before end of business."
"Okay."
"Don't transfer anything.
Don't withdraw anything.
Just document what exists right now."
"Alright."
"And one more thing," Patricia said.
"Is there any chance he already suspects that you know?"
I thought about the phone call that morning.
His easy voice.
*Love you.* The complete absence of anything careful or guarded.
"No," I said.
"He has no idea."
"Good.
Keep it that way for now.
Can you come in Thursday?"
Thursday.
The same day his message to Melissa had named.
*Same place.
I'll get the room.*
"Yes," I said.
"Thursday works."
I ended the call and opened our bank's app.
Joint checking.
Joint savings.
The investment account David managed.
I screenshotted each one and saved them to a folder I locked with a separate passcode.
The balances looked normal.
Nothing obviously missing.
But as I was closing the app, I noticed something.
A recurring transfer I didn't recognize — small, two hundred dollars a month, going out to an account I didn't know.
It had been running for seven months.
I screenshotted it separately and sent it to Patricia's email with a short note.
Her reply came back within the hour.
*Good catch.
We'll look into this.
See you Thursday.*
I put the phone down and looked around the kitchen.
The cereal bowl Ava had left in the sink.
The coffee cups on the counter.
The garage door David had backed out of that morning without a second glance.
Everything the same.
Everything completely different.
My phone buzzed.
A text from David.
*Thinking about you.
Dinner tonight?
I'll cook.*
I stared at it for a long moment.
May you like
Then I typed back: *Sounds good.*
And I set the phone face-down on the counter and went to fold the laundry, because I needed something to do with my hands, and because I had three days to hold this together before Thursday came.
