The message was from an unsaved number with a 212 area code.

“Tell Ethan the grace period ended at midnight. Ryan’s trash is his trash now. We want the rest of the thirty thousand by Friday.”

I stared at the words until they blurred.

The room felt suddenly colder, the draft from the dining room window pressing against my neck.

I walked over to the window and looked out into the driveway.

Ethan’s car was gone, the wet gravel tire tracks still visible under the streetlamp.

He had threatened to strip me of everything my mother had left behind.

He wanted to tear apart our marriage, her legacy, and my peace of mind to pay for whatever hole his family had dug.

I sat back down at the table and pulled my laptop toward me.

My hands were cold, the keys stiff under my fingers.

If Ethan wanted to sue me for divorce and claim my mother’s assets, I needed to know exactly what I was fighting.

I logged into our joint bank portal first.

The balance was lower than it had been last week, showing only a few hundred dollars.