Chapter 3: The Lawyer at the Door

At eight fifty-five, I stood outside my own door.

It was not locked.

Harold was sitting on the sofa. He had changed into his usual gray sweater and black pants. The silk robe was gone. The coffee table had been wiped clean. There was one cup of tea on it and no lipstick.

"Margaret," he said softly. "Let's sit down and talk."

I stayed standing.

"The marriage certificate. The deed."

"You need to calm down."

"Bring them."

His eyes reddened.

"I know I hurt you. But we have lived most of our lives together. Don't do something rash over a person who doesn't matter."

"A person who does not matter lived here for two years, received money every month, and slept in my bed." I looked at him. "Bring the deed."

He went to the bedroom and came back with a folder.

The apartment deed listed one owner: Harold Bennett.

It had been bought in 2005. That was the year my salary account began losing twenty-three hundred dollars every month for the mortgage. It went on for fifteen years.

"When we bought this place, you said putting both names on the deed would cost extra. You said we would add mine later."

He swallowed. "Yes."

"Eighteen years. Did you add it?"

No answer.

The doorbell rang.

Harold looked up.

"Who is that?"

"Someone I invited."

I opened the door.

Jacob Reed stood outside in a charcoal overcoat with a briefcase in his hand.

"Ms. Wells."

He nodded to me, then to Harold.

"And you are?" Harold demanded.

Jacob handed him a card.

"Jacob Reed. Attorney. Ms. Wells has retained me regarding divorce and marital property."

Harold looked at the card as if it had burned his fingers.

"You got a lawyer?"

"I told you to have the papers ready. Did you think I was joking?"

Jacob opened his briefcase.

"Mr. Bennett, I reviewed the preliminary records Ms. Wells authorized me to access. This apartment was purchased during the marriage. Although the deed lists only your name, the mortgage payments were drawn from Ms. Wells's salary account for fifteen years. That is relevant."

Harold stared at me.

"Margaret, when did you-"

"Did you think I was stupid?"

Jacob turned a page.

"Your pension account also made regular transfers to Nora Lawson from July 2022 through January 2024, two thousand dollars each month. Total: thirty-eight thousand dollars. Did Ms. Wells consent to those transfers?"

Harold said nothing.

"There are additional purchases," Jacob continued. "A gold necklace for sixty-two hundred. A women's handbag for thirty-four hundred. A phone for forty-eight hundred. Restaurants, supermarkets, clothing stores. Our preliminary total is roughly ninety-two thousand dollars spent on or transferred to Ms. Lawson."

"Enough," Harold said.

"No," I said. "Keep going."

Harold shot to his feet.

"I will not divorce you."

Jacob closed the folder. "That is not solely your decision. If Ms. Wells files, the court can consider cohabitation, dissipation of marital assets, and exclusion of a spouse from the residence."

"What evidence? Eating together is evidence now?"

"Changed locks. Shared bedroom items. Shared household goods. Repeated transfers. Witnesses. The question is not whether you can call it something softer."

Harold turned on me.

"Thirty-nine years of marriage, and you bring a lawyer to count money?"

"Thirty-nine years of marriage, and you sold it to someone else two thousand dollars at a time."