“You thought you could trust him because he was your husband,” Jessica finishes quietly, and I nod, even though she can’t see me. “I’ve seen it happen time and time again. If both your names are on the account, one party can’t fully close the account without both of you signing off on it, but either of you can add and remove money at will.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, “I know how that works. I used to work at that bank.”
“Can you tell how the money was removed?”
Duh.I’d been so frozen in shock, I didn’t even think to check on that, so I click on it and see the posting. “It looks like it was transferred to another account last night. I don’t recognize the number. He must have opened another account.”
“Crap,” Jessica says. “It will all get straightened out once you go to court, and the judge will divide the money as he sees fit. I know that doesn’t help you right now though. I’m so sorry.”
A thought strikes hollowly in my chest. “My savings could be considered marital assets, right?”
I can hear the cringe in Jessica’s voice. “Yes, ma’am. Without a prenup, it could.”
I smack my forehead with my palm. Hard. “So Twatface could get half of everything I’ve saved up. Half of the money my parents left me.”
“Hmm, I’m not a lawyer, but I know that generally inheritances are considered the property of the person inheriting it. Unless the funds are commingled, and then they become community property. In some cases, the judge can rule differently, but I’m just not sure.” She pauses for a long second, and I resist the urge to bang my head on the steering wheel at my stupidity. “I do have a tiny bit of good news.”
“Hit me with it, Jessica,” I say, swiping my hands down my cheeks and staring out the windshield at the convenience store in front of me. “I could use some good news right now.”
“Ms. Smoak was able to expedite the name change you requested, so you’re now officially Mindy Espinoza again. You should receive the papers today at your aunt’s address.”
Tears of gratitude seep down my face. It’s such a small thing, but it’s also a very big thing. Enormous. I may not be divorced yet, but I no longer have Twatface’s surname.
“Thank you, Jessica,” I say, doing my best not to weep. “And apologize to Ms. Smoak for me. I’ll do my best to get that money to you as soon as possible.”
“The docket for divorce court is pretty long right now, so it will be months before your case comes up. I’ll leave you as active in our system right now, okay?” she asks, kindness surrounding her every word.
“Thank you,” I repeat. “I’ll… be in touch.” As soon as I hang up, I text Roger a scathing message and stare at my phone, waiting for a response. The dickhead leaves me on read.
I toss my phone onto the seat beside me, and that’s when the tears overwhelm me, escaping my body in heaving sobs. I haven’t cried like this since my mother died. My hands stroke around the steering wheel, the exact spot Mama touched when driving this car. It brings me a modicum of comfort.
How the hell could I have been so stupid? How could I have trusted someone with the money I’ve been saving for years? And why the hell didn’t I open a savings account at a different bank and transfer my money out right after leaving Twatface a couple weeks ago?
Granted, I’ve been dealing with a lot… moving from Galveston to Houston… trying to replenish my wardrobe Twatface destroyed… becoming a single, independent woman once again. But still. Protecting my money should have been my first priority.
But I never in my wildest dreams thought quiet, unassuming Roger would literally steal from me. Another bout of tears drains down my face and onto my pink T-shirt. Reaching over to the glove box, I pull out a wad of Whataburger napkins Caroline had stuffed in there last time she rode with me.
I suddenly want to call my friend, but I pause and shake my head. She and Brayden are in New York City for their anniversary, and I don’t want to disturb them.
A tap sounds on my window, and I almost leap out of my seat as I whirl around. A woman stands there, a look of concern on her face.
“Are you okay?” she mouths.
Her blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail, and she’s wearing a bright yellow shirt with denim shorts. Assessing that she doesn’t seem to be a threat, I roll down my window. The warm August air battles for dominance against my air conditioning, and sweat instantly dots my forehead.
“Hi, sorry,” I say, blotting at my face. “Just had a difficult phone call.”
Her lips twist to the side. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help. I’m sorry I scared you.”
I manage a watery smile and say, “Divorce shit,” without further explanation.
Her eyes roll heavenward. “Sister, I’ve been there, done that. It gets better, I promise.” Then she pauses, as if in thought, before reaching into her plastic bag and pulling out a Twix bar. “Here. You take this. I think you need it more than I do.”
With more gratitude than I know what to do with, I take the candy, the foil wrapper crinkling in my hand.
“Thank you,” I say, overwhelmed by this simple kindness from a stranger.
“No problem. Sometimes the path we’re on leads us straight to Shitsville, and in that case, it’s okay to pivot,” she replies. Then she winks and shoots a finger gun at me. “Keep your chin up, babe, and remember it’s not you. Most men are as useless as the g in lasagna.”
