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Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“Rachel, what happened?” My mother panicked.
I tried calling Doug. Blocked.
Then I rang Monica. Blocked.
The firm’s HR department couldn’t help and dismissed my plea.
“That sounds like a personal matter for the police. We can’t get involved.”
The police told me that since his name was on the account, technically he hadn’t stolen anything.
“But he left me with nothing. I have a five-year-old son.”
“File for divorce and child support, ma’am.”
I had no savings.
I called my mom, sobbing. She let us move in with her.
That tiny house became our refuge.
The following year was the hardest of my life. I worked two jobs, cleaning office buildings at night and cashiering during the day. My old clients had moved on.
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