“It was never your mother’s card.

It was attached to my personal account.” “She was at the counter of a boutique downtown when the transaction was declined in front of everyone.

Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for her?” “So your mother chose to celebrate the day of my divorce,” I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice, “by buying jewelry with my money?” Instead of answering, he slammed the phone down.

And less than thirty minutes later, I heard frantic pounding at my front entryway, followed by the metallic click of a key turning in my lock.