My husband and I were packing our suitcases for a vacation we had taken out a loan for the day before. I was already closing the bag when a call came from the bank: “We reviewed your loan again and discovered something you need to see in person. Please come alone and don’t tell your husband anything…”

Maya’s eyes sharpened. “It didn’t. The funds are on hold pending verification. Ms. Bennett… has your husband been pressuring you to sign things?”

Images flashed through my head—Logan sliding papers across the table “just sign here, babe,” Logan insisting on handling all the bills, Logan getting irritated when I asked to see statements.

“Yes,” I whispered. “But I thought— I thought it was just…”

“Convenience,” Maya finished, not unkindly. “That’s how it usually starts.”

She pushed another sheet forward: a credit report pull authorization. My name again. A different signature again.

“I need to ask,” Maya said, “do you share banking passwords?”

My stomach twisted. “He knows mine. He said it was easier.”

Maya nodded like she’d heard it a hundred times. “We also found a recent attempt to open a second line of credit in your name with a different address. It was submitted from an IP address linked to your home internet.”

My ears rang. “Are you saying Logan is stealing my identity?”

Maya didn’t use the word stealing. She didn’t have to.