The explosion happened on a Wednesday. Naomi returned home to find Derek at the kitchen table, pale and furious.
“Did you close our joint account?” he demanded. “We have bills to pay!”
“No,” Naomi said, her voice steady. “You have bills to pay. Those are your debts, Derek. And since you haven’t worked in three years, I suggest you find a way to cover them.”
“We’re married! Your money is our money!”
“Then where is your contribution?” Naomi countered. “I know about Amber. I know about the jewelry. I know you called me your ‘personal slave’ to your friends.”
Derek went white. “You heard that?”
“I heard everything. And I’m done.” Naomi placed an envelope on the table. “These are divorce papers. You’ve been served.”
Derek scrambled for excuses, promising to change and begging for another chance. But Naomi was already moving toward the door with the single suitcase she had packed. “Your name isn’t on the mortgage,” she reminded him. “You have thirty days to move out before you’re evicted. Figure it out.”