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.…