Eight months earlier, money had started disappearing from our joint account.
Not huge amounts.
That was part of what made it so easy to doubt myself.
A charge here.
A withdrawal there.
Enough to notice, but never enough for Marcus to admit there was a real problem.
Every time I asked about it, he had an explanation.
A bill.
A purchase.
Something for the house.
Something he claimed I had forgotten discussing.
Sometimes he sounded irritated that I had asked.
Sometimes he sounded concerned that I was working too much and getting confused.
I wanted to believe my husband.
That part mattered.
I wasn’t secretly hoping to catch him doing something wrong.
I wanted every explanation to be true because the alternative meant admitting there was something happening inside my marriage that I could not see.
But wanting to trust someone and ignoring a pattern are not the same thing.
So I had quietly hired an attorney.
Her name was Patricia Hendricks.
At first, I had told myself I was only being careful.
I wasn’t preparing to leave Marcus.
I wasn’t planning some dramatic confrontation.
I simply wanted documentation.
