On the third day, I saw a post from Connor on social media. "Once you're legal, we'll be legal." The picture showed two hands forming a heart, each wearing matching rings from a luxury brand.
My heart felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly. I remembered wanting those rings when we registered our marriage, but Connor said they were overpriced and insisted on buying plain gold bands instead. Now, it seemed the brand's price no longer mattered to him. How ironic.
Then, I received a message from him. [Nadine, you're disgusting. I told you, Sandra and I got together after our divorce. You have no right to accuse us. And you have no evidence. Those emails you sent were a waste of effort.] His words were like pouring oil on a fire.
[You shameless jerk! Fine, I don't want to argue about you and Sandra anymore. When are you going to give me my share of the house?] I replied back.
[Which house?] He asked nonchalantly.
When I saw that message, my mind went blank. I realized something was very wrong. [Which house? The one I'm living in. I told you, no money, no moving out.]
[We clearly stated in the divorce agreement that the house belongs to me. We processed the transfer based on that agreement and now the house is under my wife's name,] he replied.
Then he added, [For the sake of our past, I'll give you a month to find a place. Otherwise, I'll have to personally escort you out.]
His words hit me like a bolt of lightning. No wonder they had been stalling, promising to give me the money later. They had planned to transfer the property all along! I was trembling with anger when a voice brought me back to reality.
"Nadine." I looked up to see my boss, Jacob Elody.
"Where's the PPT I asked you to prepare?" Jacob, although only in his early thirties, had reached a position many could only dream of. His rapid rise was due not only to his exceptional abilities but also to his notorious workaholism.
When he barked at me, I knew I was done for. I'd completely forgotten about the work. "The client meeting is at two this afternoon. Do you know what time it is now?" he asked.
I glanced at my watch, it was eleven. If I skipped lunch and worked straight through, I could probably get a draft done. "I'll have it to you before two," I said quickly.
"One o'clock," he demanded, giving me a stern look before walking away.