After My Miscarriage, My Husband Locked Me Out novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Ten O'Clock

Audrey serves the widow notice in front of her friends and hands Hoyt a suitcase; he leaves with Danielle, and the bank app shows $2,400 sent to her every month for two years.

The lawyer's office opened at eight, and by eight-thirty I was sitting across from her with Leah beside me.

She was a woman in her fifties with reading glasses pushed up into gray hair, and she had already read everything I sent.

"The deed is in your name alone," she said. "Your mother left it to you before the marriage. Your husband has no ownership."

"Can I make him leave?"

"Not today. As your husband he has a right to live there until a court says otherwise."

My stomach dropped.

"But the widow is a guest," she went on. "You invited her for two weeks, in writing. Two weeks are up. She has no lease and no claim."

She slid a typed page across the desk.

"This tells her to be out by tonight. Serve it in front of a witness."

I looked at it for a long moment.

"Can I bring a witness who's angry?" Leah asked.

"Please," the lawyer said.

At ten o'clock I stood on my own porch with the paper in my hand.

Leah was behind me with a rolling suitcase the size of a small refrigerator.

The door was unlocked.

Inside, the party was over, but the people were not.

Four women sat in my living room with coffee cups, and Danielle was in the middle of them on my couch, wearing the same cream cardigan and holding a tissue.

The banner still hung over the fireplace.

Hoyt stood up fast.

"Audrey. You came."

"I said ten."

"I thought we could sit down first. Danielle made breakfast."

I smelled eggs and burnt toast in my kitchen.

I had never cooked in that kitchen without being thanked for it.

"Danielle," I said.

She looked up, and her eyes were already wet.

"Audrey, I'm so sorry about last night. I told Hoyt we shouldn't have had anyone over. I told him."

"Thank you."

I handed her the page.

She read it once.

Then she read it again, slower, and her mouth opened.

"It says I have to leave tonight."

"You agreed to two weeks," I said. "It has been two weeks and one day."

One of the women set her cup down.

"Audrey, honey," she said. "Surely you don't mean now. She just lost her husband."

"Three years ago."

Nobody said anything.

Danielle pressed the tissue under her eyes.

"I'll go," she whispered. "Hoyt, please. I don't want to be the reason for this."

"You're not going anywhere," Hoyt said.

He turned to me.

"Audrey, you are not thinking straight. You've been through a terrible loss."

"I'm thinking clearly," I said. "I want her gone by tonight."

"And Otto? Where does a six-year-old go?"

"To a motel, or to her mother's, or to her friends." I looked at the women on my couch. "Any of you have a spare room?"

Not one of them lifted her eyes.

Leah rolled the suitcase across my living room floor and set it down in front of him.

It made a loud knock on the hardwood.

"What's that?" Hoyt asked.

"Your things," I said. "You can pack them now or I can do it for you."

His face went slack.

"You're throwing me out? Over a cake?"

"Over a cake, and a bed, and a morning," I said. "You ordered that lettering at nine-oh-one while I was lying in a hospital bed waiting for your call."

One of the women made a small sound.

Hoyt looked at the floor.

"I'm not leaving my wife's house."

"The law says you can stay until a judge decides," I said. "I'll be in my bedroom. Danielle is leaving tonight."

I walked upstairs.

I heard Danielle begin to cry loudly, and I heard Hoyt tell her it would be all right.

I changed the sheets myself and lay down in my own bed for the first time in two days.

I slept until afternoon.

When I came down, the banner was gone and the living room was empty.

Hoyt's car was not in the drive.

On the counter was a note in his handwriting: Taking Danielle and Otto to a motel. Don't do anything else until I'm back.

Leah sat at my table with her laptop.

"I'm going to look at your bank app," she said. "I want to know what he can touch."

"He can't touch anything. It's my paycheck and the joint account we use for bills."

She scrolled for a long time.

Then she stopped scrolling.

"Audrey," she said. "Come look at this."

On the screen was a list of transfers from the joint account, all on the first of the month, all for the same amount.

$2,400.

Each one was sent to the same account number.

Under the name, I read: P. Ruddock.

I traced the rows with my finger.

The first one was dated two years ago.

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