Chapter 4
The next 48 hours were a blur of paperwork, phone calls, and hard decisions.
Mark picked me up from my hotel room at 8 a.m. the next day, coffee in hand, a stack of files on the passenger seat.
“First order of business,” he said, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Freeze every joint account you have with Tyler. Close any credit cards he has access to. Change all your passwords. We don’t want him draining your accounts from jail.”
We spent three hours at the bank.
I found out Tyler had already siphoned $12,000 from our savings account over the last six months to pay off gambling debts I’d known nothing about.
The bank manager froze the remaining funds, flagged any future transactions, and helped me open new accounts in my name only.
Next, we went to the county courthouse.
I filed for divorce.
Temporary full control of all our shared assets.
And three permanent restraining orders—one against Tyler, one against Karen, one against Jenna.
No contact.
No coming within 500 feet of me, the condo, or my job.
If they violated it, automatic 90 days in jail.
The judge signed the orders in less than 10 minutes, his face tight when he looked at the police report and the photos of my injury.
“No one should ever have to live like this,” he said, sliding the orders across the desk.
“Good for you for getting out.”
That afternoon, we went back to the house on North Central to pack my things.
Two uniformed officers stood outside, just in case, even though all three of them were still in custody.
I walked through the front door, the dining room still a mess of broken ceramic and dried blood.
I didn’t flinch.
I just grabbed boxes from the garage, started packing my clothes, my books, the few things that were actually mine.
In the back of Tyler’s closet, hidden under a pile of old work boots, I found a stack of papers tied with a rubber band.
I untied it, my blood running cold.
More gambling debts.
$47,000 worth, all taken out in my name, forged with my signature.
Loan applications.
Credit card statements.
Payday loan notices.
All of it dated over the last two years.
I’d had no idea.
I carried the stack out to Mark, my hands shaking.
He flipped through it, his jaw tightening.
“This is perfect. More charges. Forgery, identity theft, fraud. All felonies. We’ll add these to the federal case. Tyler’s looking at even more time now.”
I sat down on the front porch step, the warm concrete under my legs.
Six years.
Six years of marriage, and I’d been married to a stranger.
A liar.
A thief.
A man who’d been willing to smash a plate over my head to steal a house my dad had built with his own two hands.
Mark sat down next to me, handed me the coffee he’d bought me hours earlier, now cold.
“I know it hurts,” he said.
“Finding out someone you loved was never who you thought they were. But look at it this way—you found out now. Before he took everything. Before he hurt you worse. Your dad’s plan worked. You’re free.”
I looked out at the street, the palm trees swaying in the breeze.
He was right.
I was free.
No more walking on eggshells.
No more hiding my opinions to keep Tyler happy.
No more Karen showing up unannounced to criticize my cooking, my cleaning, my job.
No more Jenna rolling her eyes at everything I said.
By the end of the second day, all my things were in storage.
The restraining orders were served to all three in jail.
The federal charges were officially filed.
Mark dropped me off at the condo downtown, the one they’d tried so hard to steal.
I walked in the front door, the air smelling like lemon polish and old wood, just like my dad used to keep it.
I dropped my bag on the kitchen table, looked around at the empty rooms.
It was mine.
All mine.
No one could take it from me.
No one could ever hurt me here again.
I poured myself a glass of wine, sat on the balcony, and watched the sun set over the Phoenix skyline.
The pain in my head was a dull throb, the stitches pulling a little when I smiled.
But I didn’t care.
May you like
For the first time in six years, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Home.
