“Look, Tiffany has problems. You know that. She just needed the car for a few weeks,” Harrison said. I told him that he should have lent her his own car instead.
Harrison remained silent because he knew I was right. “Exactly,” I said, “but you didn’t give her yours. You gave her mine.”
His phone rang at that moment with Tiffany’s name on the screen, but he declined the call. Harrison told me we would sort it out and promised I would have my car back tomorrow.
“It’s no longer about returning keys,” I said. I took a copy of the deeds from the display case and placed it on the coffee table.
“I spoke with a lawyer this morning. The house is my separate property and I can sell it. I’ve also scheduled an appointment to review our assets,” I informed him.
Harrison’s face changed from indignation to a very real fear as he realized I had already consulted a lawyer. “You wouldn’t really do this,” he whispered. “I’m already doing it,” I replied.
That night he slept in the guest room, and early the next morning, I found my Range Rover parked in front of the house. Tiffany was sitting behind the wheel wearing sunglasses with her lips pressed tightly together.