PART 1 — THE DAY HE THREW ME AWAY
“My attorney says you have forty-eight hours to collect anything else you think belongs to you.”
Those were the first words my husband said when I came home.
Not hello.
Not how was your appointment?
Not even are you okay?
I stood at the end of the stone walkway outside our Pacific Palisades home, staring at a navy-blue suitcase sitting beside the front door.
My suitcase.
A manila envelope had been tucked beneath the handle.
I already knew what was inside before I opened it.
Divorce papers.
My name is Claire Bennett.
I was thirty-five years old, had been married for eleven years, and that morning I had received the news I had spent almost a decade praying for.
I was pregnant.
And three hours later, my husband threw me out of our house.
The irony would have been funny if it hadn’t hurt so badly machen.
