Mark called three more times that evening. I let the first two calls go to voicemail while Dana reminded me of the essentials: keep everything in writing, don’t negotiate anything in a panic, document everything. When I finally answered, I kept my voice calm.
« You had no right to do that, » he said. In the background, the sounds of the casino and the laughter of a woman—young, strong, carefree.
« We’ve moved beyond the question of ‘rights,’ Mark. You’ve emptied the account. »
« It was our money! And it’s my life. You can’t punish me because you’re jealous. »
Jealous. Of a man who steals his own children and calls it freedom.
« Dana filed the request. You have been subpoenaed. »
Silence, then a dry exhalation. « What exactly does that mean? »
« That means the court will decide what happens next. Not you. »
He hung up.
The next morning, I drove Lily and Noah to school as usual. Smiles for the teachers, snacks prepared, a facade of normalcy—children sense fear like dogs sense a storm. Then I sat in the car in the parking lot and trembled for thirty seconds. Afterward, I called Dana.
« You’re doing the right thing, » she told me. « Now we’re expanding the scope. »
Together, I laid out the full picture of our finances: the mortgage, Mark’s retirement savings plan, credit cards, and the car loan. She explained that, in our state, the misappropriation of mutual funds could be addressed through interim measures and, later, through reimbursement in the final settlement. It wasn’t instant justice, but a process with real leverage.
By Monday, a provisional court date had been set. In the meantime, Dana sent letters to every bank and creditor she had identified, informing them that divorce proceedings were underway and asking them to avoid any new debts in my name. I opened a checking account in my own name, updated my salary payments, and created a minimalist budget based on the assumption that Mark wouldn’t contribute. It was hard, but it was real.
Mark, on the other hand, has become theatrical. Apologies at 2 a.m., insults at 9 a.m.
Mark: « You’re ruining my life. »
Mark: « I’ll go home and we’ll talk. »
Mark: « If you close the door on me, I’ll make it ugly. »
Dana’s advice was summed up in one sentence: « Let him talk. You act. »
On Wednesday, the bailiff’s certificate arrived: Mark had been served in person in the lobby of his hotel. Dana forwarded it to me with one line: « He can no longer pretend nothing happened. »
That evening, Mark called back, his voice softer, almost pleading. « I can fix this. I’ll pay you back when I get back. Just stop the proceedings. »
« Where is the money, right now? » I asked.
The pause was too long. « It’s not… like that. »
So yes, that was exactly it. Cash withdrawals, casino ATMs, this « new life » financed with our family’s money. I imagined Lily asking why football was cancelled, Noah asking why Dad wasn’t home in the evening. My throat tightened.
« You made a choice. Now there are consequences. »
See more on the next page
Advertisement
