Chapter 4 - Scorched Earth
The fallout was spectacular, terrifying, and entirely public.
By Friday, the rumors had already spread through Ethan and Rebecca's workplace. I knew this because Ethan’s mother, Brenda, called me precisely at 10:00 a.m. I almost didn't answer, but a dark curiosity compelled me to press the green button.
"Clara Jensen, what on earth is wrong with you?" Brenda’s shrill voice assaulted my ear before I could even say hello. "My son is sleeping on my couch! You threw him out like a dog! He is your husband!"
"He is Rebecca's husband now, Brenda," I said evenly, continuing to chop vegetables for my lunch. "I assumed they would want to start their new life together."
"It was a mistake! A momentary lapse in judgment!" Brenda defended him, as she had done his entire life. "You are overreacting. Marriage is about forgiveness. And to cut off his bank accounts? How is he supposed to eat? How is he supposed to pay for gas to get to work?"
"That sounds like a problem for his mother or his new girlfriend," I replied, the knife striking the cutting board with rhythmic precision. "I am not his ATM anymore, Brenda. I highly suggest you teach your son how to budget. Goodbye."
I blocked her number immediately.
The legal battle commenced the following week. Ethan hired a lawyer—a sleazy, discount attorney he probably found on a billboard. They tried to file an emergency motion for spousal support and access to the house, claiming I had "unjustly evicted" him.
Sitting in the polished conference room of Sarah’s law firm, I read over his demands. He wanted half the house, half my retirement fund, and monthly alimony to "maintain his standard of living."
"Can he actually get this?" I asked, a flicker of anxiety finally breaking through my stoic facade.
Sarah smiled like a shark smelling blood in the water. "Clara, they are throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks. He has a job. He is able-bodied. And we have proof of infidelity and financial mismanagement on his part. I’ve subpoenaed the credit card statements. Do you want to know what your 'boring' money was paying for over the last eight months?"
She slid a thick folder across the table.
I opened it. Page after page of highlighted transactions. High-end dinners. Hotel rooms in the city. Expensive jewelry from boutiques I never shopped at. A $500 spa day for Rebecca’s birthday.
He hadn't just betrayed me emotionally; he had used my hard-earned money to fund his double life. The nausea returned, but this time, it was quickly incinerated by a burning, furious fire.
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"He spent nearly fifteen thousand dollars on her using your secondary card," Sarah noted, tapping a polished fingernail on the final tally. "We are going to argue dissipation of marital assets. Not only is he not getting your house, Clara, but we are going to make him pay back every single cent he spent on his mistress."
I closed the folder, my hands perfectly steady. "Take everything, Sarah. Leave him with nothing but the clothes in that trash bag."
