The Hassle
My husband, Richard, took a “family” trip to Palm Springs—with his lover and her family—and left me behind. I’d spent the afternoon preparing his favorite meal, hoping for a quiet evening. Then he called: “The rental only has three bedrooms… you don’t have to come.” A hassle. That’s what I was to him.
That night, I cried over shattered plates. My friend Brenda, a divorce attorney, asked questions that cut through my denial: Who paid for the house? Why was I covering the mortgage? How was he spending freely if he was “broke”?
Within 24 hours, I discovered a secret bank account in his and Heather’s names, forged mortgage documents on my house, and a planned deed transfer giving my home to his sister. I was not just ignored—I was funding their theft.
I acted fast: froze accounts, called lawyers, filed for divorce, and Richard was arrested for fraud and forgery. I kept my house, reclaimed most of my savings, and finally reclaimed my life.
Two years later, I live freely, knowing I was never a hassle—I was the foundation they tried to steal.