My husband said he was going to Toronto for a two-year work assignment. I saw him off in tears, but the moment I got home, I transferred the entire $650,000 from our savings and filed for divorce.

The next morning, I didn’t go to work. I went to war.

I sat in the office of Miss Eleanor Davis, a divorce attorney Kevin had recommended. She was a woman in her late forties with eyes like polished steel and a suit that cost more than my first car.

“So,” Miss Davis said, reviewing the file Kevin had prepared. “Let me get this straight. He thinks you’re the weeping, devoted wife waiting at home. Meanwhile, he’s flying to Canada to start a new life with his mistress, using marital funds.”

“Correct,” I said, my voice steady. “And I emptied the joint account last night.”

Miss Davis’s lips curled into a rare, approving smile. “Excellent. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and given that the majority of those deposits can be traced to your salary, we have a strong claim. You stopped him from embezzling marital assets.”

“What’s the next step?”

“We file immediately,” she said, pulling out a legal pad. “Since he has left the jurisdiction, we can’t file for a simplified divorce. We have to file a petition based on fault—adultery and attempted dissipation of assets. We will also file a motion to freeze any other assets he might try to liquidate.”

“He thinks he’s smart,” I said, anger simmering beneath my calm exterior. “He told his mistress he’d wait six months to divorce me so I wouldn’t make a scene.”

“Men like Mark Evans always underestimate the women they betray,” Miss Davis noted, jotting down notes. “We’ll serve him. It might be tricky since he’s abroad, but once he realizes the money is gone, he’ll reach out to you. That’s when we nail him.”

I left her office feeling lighter. The naive girl who believed in fairy tales was dead; in her place stood a woman armed with a subpoena.

That evening, my phone buzzed with a video call request. It was Mark.

I took a deep breath, arranged my features into a mask of longing, and accepted the call.

Mark’s face filled the screen. behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering Toronto skyline.

“Hannah! I’ve landed,” he announced, his voice bubbling with false excitement. “The apartment the company arranged is incredible. Look at this view!”

He panned the camera around. The space was modern, sleek, and conspicuously large for a single man on a work trip.

“It’s beautiful, Mark,” I cooed. “Ideally, we could be there together.”

“I know, baby. I miss you already.” He paused, and I saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Hey, I was trying to use the debit card to pay for some movers, but it got declined. Did you… touch the account?”

My heart hammered, but I kept my face smooth. “Oh? No, I haven’t touched a thing. Maybe the bank froze it because of the international transaction? You know how they are with security.”

Relief washed over his face. “Right, right. That must be it. I’ll call them tomorrow. Anyway, I’m exhausted. I’m going to crash. I love you.”

“Love you too,” I said.

The screen went black. I stared at my reflection in the dark phone screen and let out a bitter, jagged laugh. He was probably turning to Claire right now, complaining about the bank, utterly unaware that his financial lifeline had been severed.

A week later, Kevin sent me a new report. It contained high-resolution photos of Mark and Claire in Toronto. They were grocery shopping, holding hands, looking at furniture. They looked like newlyweds.

“They’re looking at a house in Vancouver,” Kevin’s note read. “Planning to take out a mortgage in his company’s name.”

I forwarded the photos to Miss Davis. “Add it to the pile,” I texted.

“With pleasure,” she replied. “We’ve filed the petition. The court has issued a summons. He’s about to find out exactly what kind of woman he left behind.”