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Right before they wheeled me into brain surgery, my husband leaned over the bed and confessed, "I've had a son with your best friend for the last year." He thought if I didn't survive the operation, or lost my memory afterward, he'd never have to answer for any of it. I didn't scream. I quietly canceled every card in his name and handed our entire financial history to a lawyer. By the next morning, he understood that my memory wasn't the only thing he should have been worried about losing.
My husband packed his bags for a beach vacation with his mother and sister and left me behind with the kids to harvest sweet corn on my parents' old mountain property. On his way out the door he laughed and said, "A little hard work will do you good too." I didn't argue with him. I just quietly blocked my cards. The next afternoon he called me in a full panic because the three of them couldn't cover the $4,200 hotel bill — and he still had absolutely no idea what else I'd found.