Chapter 2 - WHAT ERIC THOUGHT I EARNED
My attorney was Priya Desai.
She came to the hospital the following afternoon after my procedure.
Not because I was wealthy.
Because my sister had worked with her on a property matter years earlier.
Priya read Eric’s proposed settlement.
Then looked at me.
“Did he prepare this himself?”
“I think a lawyer did.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“Then his lawyer is very optimistic.”
That was the first time I smiled.
She asked for financial information.
Salary.
Retirement.
House.
Vehicles.
Debts.
Bank accounts.
I told her my income.
She stopped writing.
“Your husband knows?”
“No.”
“How does your spouse of nineteen years not know you earn one hundred thirty thousand dollars?”
I thought about it.
“He stopped asking.”
That was the simplest answer.
Eric had built an idea of me years earlier.
Quiet.
Safe.
Financially dependent.
The wife who worked remotely because her job was “flexible.”
He knew my salary had increased.
He simply never understood by how much.
Each time I got a raise, we celebrated with dinner.
He toasted:
“Nice little bump.”
When I became director, he said:
“That’s great, babe. Still working from the laptop?”
Yes.
Still using a laptop.
Apparently laptops place a ceiling on compensation.
Priya did not find this amusing.
“You need full financial discovery.”
“I know.”
“Do you suspect hidden assets?”
“I didn’t yesterday.”
“And today?”
I remembered the question:
Is there someone else?
And Eric’s pause.
“Yes.”
Priya nodded.
Then:
“Do not empty accounts.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not hide money.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not transfer property to relatives.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not sign anything he sends directly.”
“Gladly.”
She placed Eric’s proposed agreement back inside the envelope.
“And do not assume that because the house or car is titled a certain way, his proposed division determines the outcome.”
That sounded obvious.
It had apparently not occurred to Eric.
The house had been purchased twelve years earlier.
Both our names were on title.
Eric had made most mortgage payments from his visible checking account.
But my money had paid:
Property taxes during two difficult years.
A $38,000 kitchen renovation.
A new roof.
Homeowners insurance.
And approximately $61,000 in extra principal payments over time.
The SUV was titled jointly.
The down payment had come from my account.
Eric called it:
“Our money.”
Interesting how “our” changed depending on who wanted what.
I was discharged after four days.
Eric had moved out.
Half his clothes were gone.
His golf clubs.
His watch collection.
The espresso machine.
Of all things.
He left my medication on the counter exactly where I had placed it before going to the hospital.
No note.
My closet looked untouched.
My side of the bathroom still had my toothbrush.
It was as though he had removed himself cleanly and assumed the rest of my life would simply continue around the hole.
Then I discovered the first problem.
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Our joint checking account was almost empty.
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