When I told her what had happened, she was silent for a long time.
“Laura, you know that the deed of the house’s ownership is in your name only, isn’t it?”
“I know.”
“Does Michael know that?”
“I don’t think he’s ever bothered to check it out.”
That night, for the first time, I reviewed all the documents not like a loving partner, but like a woman who has to protect herself.
At five in the morning I found a small apartment that I could temporarily rent.
At six, my suitcase was at the front door.
I left the briefcase on the kitchen table.
When Michael entered the kitchen yawning, expecting to see his morning coffee as usual, he suddenly stopped.
There was no coffee.
Instead, there were bank documents, confirmation of changes in insurance and a copy of the home’s ownership deed.
I left a short note on the file:
