THE DOCUMENTS
I grabbed my laptop.
Opened the banking app.
Everything looked normal.
Then I checked our shared email account.
There was a notification from our mortgage company.
Document request received.
My stomach dropped.
The request had been submitted that morning.
At 10:42 a.m.
While I was lying in the ER.
I opened the attachment.
And froze.
It was a preliminary refinancing application.
Nolan’s name was listed as the primary applicant.
My name appeared underneath.
But beside my signature was a scanned image that made my blood run cold.
It looked like my signature.
Almost perfect.
Except I had never signed it.
Then another email appeared.
From a law office in Columbus.
Subject: Property Transfer—Final Documents
The timestamp was Thursday evening.
The night Nolan had promised me we’d stay home together if I was still sick.
I stared at the screen.
Suddenly, the anniversary weekend didn’t feel like the reason he’d left.
It felt like a distraction.
And I had a terrifying feeling that while everyone at that lodge was raising champagne glasses to thirty-five years of marriage…
My husband had already started making plans for a future in which I no longer owned my own home.
