My husband came home after three years in Chicago and slept with his arm around my waist for the first time in our marriage. “Who taught you to hold me like that?” I asked. He said, “If you pretend you don’t know, you can keep being my wife.”
The next morning his girlfriend was in my kitchen, his mother put my grandmother-in-law’s Cartier on her finger, and I called my lawyer — because in Dayton, Ohio, a woman named Judy Miller had already told me I was dead.
The first night my husband came home after three years away, I noticed he no longer slept on his back.
He wrapped an arm around my waist like he’d been doing it for years.
“Who taught you to hold me like that?” I asked.
He sighed.
“If you pretend you don’t know, you can keep being my wife.”
I didn’t argue.
The next day I called my lawyer.
I already had proof of what he’d been doing for three years.
None of them knew who had mailed it to me.
