When We Were Monsters

Remaking a marriage after money tore it apart

“Get the fuck out of my house!” my husband yelled.

“Excuse me? I fucking live here!” I screamed. “Plus, I don’t have a car!” 

But it was his house—a penthouse condo on the water. As for me? I was his wife, paid help, a squatter. 

Standing inches from the door and my husband, I felt myself pulling away from myself. There was me: paralyzed, flooded, hateful.…