“My husband? How very interesting, considering that as of last night, he informed me he just married another woman.”
I held up my phone to show them the text message clearly.
The senior officer read it in silence while the younger one bit his lip, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.
“If the property is strictly in your name, ma’am, we cannot legally force you to let him inside.”
“The deed is entirely in my name.”
“You should document everything that happens today,” the officer advised me.
That is exactly what I spent the next few hours doing.
By noon, all of his belongings were packed neatly into cardboard boxes: his designer shirts, his collection of shoes, his cheaply bought watches, his colognes, his charging cables, his loose papers, his gaming console, and all the books he never once opened.
Every single box was clearly labeled with a marker.
I did not do this out of any lingering affection for him.
I did it for purely strategic reasons.
At two o’clock, the entire circus finally arrived at my driveway.
