My husband had no idea my annual income was $2.7 million when he screamed at me, “Hey, you sick bitch! I’ve already filed the divorce papers. Get out of my house tomorrow!”

“My lawyer filed for temporary exclusive occupancy due to verbal abuse and attempted illegal eviction,” I explained, measured and precise. “Your words are documented.”

“What words?” he snapped.

“The messages you sent after,” I replied. “The ones telling me to ‘crawl out’ and take my ‘sick body somewhere else’.”

Another long pause—then a shaky breath. “I was angry.”

“And now you’re scared,” I said.

Through the phone, I heard voices—male, professional.

Then someone near him said, “Sir, step back. This is a service of notice.”

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