I wanted someone who understood financial records better than I did to tell me whether the pattern I was seeing was real.
Patricia had advised me to keep notes, preserve records, and avoid making emotional decisions before I knew what I was dealing with.
We had even discussed what I should do if something happened that made remaining in the house feel impossible.
At the time, the conversation had felt almost excessive.
That morning, standing behind a locked bathroom door while my husband slept beside my sister and my five-year-old son slept down the hall after spending part of the night on the kitchen tile, it no longer felt excessive.
I called Patricia.
She answered.
“I found them together,” I told her.
My voice sounded strange to me.
Too controlled.
Then I added the part that mattered even more.
“My son was sleeping on the kitchen floor.”
There was a brief pause.
When Patricia answered, her voice was the calmest thing I had heard all morning.
Do not wake them.
Take Noah and leave.
Use the hotel we discussed.
Use your business card.
And before you go, take the photographs.
The instructions gave me something solid to do.
I photographed what I needed to photograph.
I did not rearrange anything.
I did not wake Marcus.
I did not wake Diane.
Then I packed for Noah.
