Then the driver’s door opened, and my ex-husband climbed out.
His new wife stepped out behind him, and together they began unloading furniture, boxes, lamps, and everything else you would expect to see when someone was moving into a home they believed belonged to them.
I stared at my phone, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, because the house in that camera footage was mine, the deed was in my name, and neither of them had ever been given permission to enter it, let alone move their belongings inside.
I didn’t call either of them.
For once, I didn’t give my ex-husband the chance to calmly explain something that was already right in front of my eyes.
I called the police.
But before I tell you how that day ended, I need to tell you how it started, because the moving truck sitting in my driveway was not the beginning of the story at all.
