Julian took his phone into the shower.
Changed his passcode.
Started wearing the cologne I had bought him for Christmas every time he had a “late shift.”
Meanwhile, I made a few quiet changes of my own.
I downloaded the phone records for our shared account.
Printed our bank statements.
Copied our tax returns.
Located our mortgage documents.
Moved my personal savings into the individual account I had owned before marriage.
And called a divorce attorney.
Her name was Rebecca Sloan.
After I explained what happened, she asked:
“Did you record the call?”
“No.”
“Did you hear it directly while the line remained open?”
“Yes.”
“Then write down everything you remember now.”
So I did.
Every sentence.
Every laugh.
Every pause.
Especially this one:
“I’ll divorce her, and then I’ll marry you.”
Rebecca reviewed our finances.
Then she found something that changed my anniversary plans completely.
For nearly seven months, Julian had been sending money from our joint account to a company called JM Consulting.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger.
Restaurants.
Hotel charges.
Jewelry.
A luxury apartment deposit.
The company did exist.
But it belonged to one person.
Melanie Harper.
Julian’s “senior project coordinator.”
The woman whose laugh I had heard through the phone.
Our anniversary was that Sunday.
Originally, I had planned something simple.
Dinner.
Cake.
Just Julian, Maya, and me.
Instead, I invited both families.
My parents.
His parents.
His sister.
My brother.
Roast chicken.
Mashed potatoes.
Green beans.
Pumpkin pie.
A painfully normal family dinner.
Julian seemed delighted.
