Less than twelve hours later, someone was pounding on my front door.

“What exactly did you do, Marissa?” Anthony’s voice exploded through the speakerphone, full of the same entitled anger I had heard for years. Less than twenty-four hours after a judge officially ended our marriage, he had skipped over basic decency and gone straight back to demanding things from me.

“My mother’s platinum card was declined at Bergdorf Goodman,” he snapped. “They embarrassed her in front of half the Upper East Side.”