I stared at him in genuine disbelief.

“Then what,” I said, “do you call taking money out of my account without my knowledge?” “I was supporting my family!” “With my money!” “You’re my wife!” “Exactly,” I replied, and my voice had gone very calm and very cold.

“I was your wife.

Not a bank you had permission to rob whenever your family demanded more.” And Daniel began to cry.

And for the first time in four years, watching my husband cry, I did not feel a single flicker of sympathy.