Brandon’s smile disappeared. I explained that I had visited the bank and discovered a divorce judgment entered in our names the previous August. I read from the papers, telling everyone that the document claimed we had lived apart for a year and that I had agreed to the settlement. I had never been served, never lived at the address listed, and never signed the agreement. The patio fell silent. Brandon stepped toward me with his hands raised, suggesting we go inside and discuss everything privately. I told him his colleagues deserved to know why a woman who supposedly wasn’t his wife was still paying the mortgage on his house.

Dolores tried to defend him, insisting there must have been a mistake. I pointed out that her own address appeared in the petition, along with her sworn statement claiming I had lived there for a year. Her expression changed. She admitted Brandon had told her we both agreed and that the arrangement was merely a quiet paperwork matter for taxes. His regional director, Gary Whitlock, ended the gathering, and the guests left. One young salesman quietly apologized. I told Brandon I was staying at a hotel and that my attorney would contact him. He followed me, claiming he had intended to fix everything before I discovered it. I told him I understood exactly what he had done: he needed me to keep paying.