Chapter 5 - What Corinne FoundIt took Corinne's investigator less than three days to build a picture I hadn't wanted to see but somehow, deep down, wasn't entirely surprised by.
Bianca Larsen was twenty-nine, a yoga instructor Desmond had met at a studio in the city eight months earlier, during the same stretch of my pregnancy when I was mostly confined to bed rest and increasingly reliant on Desmond to run our daily errands, handle our mail, and generally exist in the world on my behalf while my body did the difficult, invisible work of growing our daughter.
According to the investigator's report, Bianca had been staying at the house — my house — for the final ten days of my hospital stay and recovery, moving in what appeared to be several boxes of her belongings while I was still learning how to breastfeed and manage stitches and function on ninety-minute increments of sleep. Neighbors, when discreetly asked, confirmed they'd seen an unfamiliar blue sedan in the driveway "fairly regularly" over the previous two months.
I sat with that information for exactly one evening, allowing myself the particular, useless grief of realizing that the version of my marriage I'd believed I was living had quietly stopped existing sometime around month seven of my pregnancy, without my noticing.
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Then I called Corinne back.
"I want him out," I said. "Legally, cleanly, permanently. And I want to know exactly what he's done with access to my accounts over these past eight months, because if he's been comfortable enough to move a girlfriend into my house, I want to know what else he's felt entitled to."
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