My Husband Divorced Me At 78, Taking Our $4.5 Million House: “You’ll Never See The Grandkids Again.” He Laughed, I Left. A Month Later, An Unknown Number Called Me: “Ma’am, There’s Been An Urgent Situation Involving Your Husband…”

I wrote all of this down in my yellow legal pad in my careful, even handwriting. Then I called Brennan and Associates and made an appointment for the following Tuesday.

I told Ruth that evening over dinner. She set down her fork and looked at me with an expression I recognized, the same one she’d given me at 17 when I told her I was going to try out for the school play despite being terrified of audiences.

“You’re going to fight him,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I’m going to find out the truth first,” I said. “And then I’m going to fight him.”

The drive to Hartford took just over an hour from Ruth’s house. I wore my Goodwill coat, charcoal gray, bought years ago for a faculty dinner Harold had dragged me to, because I believed in showing up to serious meetings as seriously as they deserved. I had my legal pad, a folder of every document from my original divorce proceedings, and the receipt from the Greenwich restaurant I had kept folded inside my wallet for months.