My husband drained our accounts and vanished with my sister. At 33, I was living in a women’s shelter. “You were always so dumb,” my mother said. She didn’t offer help. Just criticism. I applied for food stamps to survive. The caseworker typed my SSN and stopped. Stared at her screen. Made a phone call. Two hours later, a man in a $3k suit arrived.
The next week was a blur. I called Nathan’s phone. It went to voicemail. I called Karine’s. Same. I drove to her apartment in Charlotte and found it empty. A for rent sign already in the window. I drove to Nathan’s company’s regional office and the receptionist told me he’d resigned 2 weeks ago. 2 weeks. He’d been playing this out for 2 weeks, maybe longer, while I sat at home thinking I was the one who finally had the upper hand.
I was 33 years old and I had $46 in my personal checking account. The one I’d kept from before we got married, the one I used for coffee and birthday presents. The house was in both our names, but the mortgage was 3 months behind. I didn’t have enough for a payment, let alone a lawyer.
I called my mother. He what? she said when I told her. He left with Karine. They took everything. There was a long pause. I could picture her in the living room of the house in Asheford, surrounded by the furniture that had belonged to her mother and her grandmother, the portraits on the walls, the china in the cabinets. I don’t understand, she said finally. How could you let this happen? Let this happen? You must have seen something. Signs? You must have noticed. I did notice. I I stopped because I had noticed and I hadn’t done anything. Not until it was too late. That’s not the point. The point is I need help. I need somewhere to stay. I need. You’re not staying here.
The words hung in the air. What? I said you’re not staying here. This is my home, Margaret. I can’t have. She paused. And when she continued, her voice was sharper. Do you understand what people will say? what they’re already saying. My daughters, both of them, in this kind of mom, you were always so dumb. She said, “You never could see what was right in front of you. Your father was the same way. Head in the clouds, no sense of the real world, and look where it got him.”
I hadn’t heard her mention my father in years. What does dad have to do with? I have a garden club meeting. We’ll talk later. She hung up.
I tried to stay in the house. I made calls to the mortgage company, explained the situation, begged for extensions. They gave me 60 days. I applied for jobs that paid more than the clinic, office, manager positions, administrative work, anything. But I didn’t have the experience and the interviews went nowhere. On the 47th day, I came home to find a notice taped to my front door. The bank had started foreclosure proceedings. I stood on my porch reading the same paragraph over and over and thought about all the ways my life had shrunk. No husband, no sister, no mother who would help me, no money, and now in 13 days, no home.
I went to the only person I could think of. Amy, my friend in Raleigh, couldn’t take me in. She’d gotten engaged and her fiance was living with her now, and their apartment was the size of a postage stamp. But she knew someone who knew someone who worked at a women’s shelter in Charlotte. She made some calls. 3 days later, I walked through the doors of the Westfield house with one suitcase and a garbage bag full of clothes.
