Chapter 4 - Financial Warfare
The first week should have been a relief.
Michael was in jail.
The restraining order was in place.
My son was sleeping through the night for the first time in years.
But relief never came.
Because Michael was busy.
From his jail cell, using his one phone call a day and his parents as go-betweens, he waged war.
First came the financial attack.
He closed our joint bank account.
All of it.
The savings.
The checking.
The college fund we had been putting money into since our son was a baby.
Forty-seven thousand dollars gone in a single afternoon.
Then he canceled the health insurance.
And the car insurance.
And he called the mortgage company and told them to expect a default because I was "mentally unstable and incapable of managing finances." Lena called me on the third day.
"He’s trying to freeze you out," she said.
"Make you desperate enough to drop the charges and come back.
It’s the classic abuser playbook.
First they isolate you.
Then they cut off your resources.
Then they offer you a way out—on their terms." "I don’t have any money," I said.
"Dad is letting us stay here and he’s buying groceries, but I can’t live off my father forever.
I haven’t worked in six years.
Who’s going to hire me?" "We’ll file an emergency motion for spousal support and attorney fees," Lena said.
"In the meantime, there are domestic violence shelters that can help with vouchers.
And your father—does he have the means to help you temporarily?" "He’s retired.
He lives on Social Security and a small pension.
He’s comfortable but not rich.
He shouldn’t have to spend his savings on me." "Sarah, you’re his daughter.
That’s what parents do.
Let him help you." I hung up and went to find Dad in the kitchen.
He was making my son pancakes.
The same pancakes he used to make me when I was little.
"I heard part of that call," he said without turning around.
"Whatever you need, it’s yours.
Every dollar I have is yours.
Don’t even think about it twice." "Dad, that’s your retirement money." He turned around.
Flour on his nose.
A spatula in his hand.
"Sarah, when you were born, the doctor put you in my arms and I made a promise.
I said I would spend every dollar I had, every breath in my body, to keep you safe.
May you like
I broke that promise for three years because I was too much of a coward to confront what was happening in your house.
Let me keep it now."
