Page 76 of The Me I Left Behind

“Call me Maggie, please.”

“Alright, Maggie. Your husband has had an account with us for over twenty years. You’ve been an authorized account user for nearly that same length of time—that is, until this morning.”

Maggie fixed her gaze on the woman. “I don’t understand.”

Again, the banker exhaled, this time with more force. “Maggie, I’m telling you this as a courtesy because I’ve seen youcome in here every month for years and withdraw a specific amount of money. You’re like clockwork.”

“Yes. And…?”

“This morning, your husband removed you as an authorized user. You can no longer withdraw money. You no longer have access to this account. I’m sorry, I have to keep your card.”

“What?” She felt frozen. “He can do that? I thought it was a joint account.”

“No. The account is his. You only had signer privileges. He has always had the ability to revoke your privileges at any time.”

“I see.” Those heart palpitations from earlier were now full-blown, erratic tremors bouncing around inside her chest.

Sandra stayed silent for a moment.

Maggie let her brain roll over Sandra’s revelation and what it literally meant.

“So, I have no money. Great.”

“Mrs. Oliver… Maggie. I’m very sorry.”

She met her gaze. “Can I still get that printout?”

“No. Again, I apologize. My hands are tied.”

Maggie was suddenly too uneasy to sit. She stood and fiddled with her zipper on her shoulder bag. “What if my attorney requests it?”

“I may need to take that higher up. But if I may….”

Maggie took a couple of steps toward the exit, then halted. Beyond her initial shock now, she was getting angry. “If you may, what?” she snapped.

Sandra joined her at the door. “I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve seen this kind of thing, but it’s not. I don’t know what you are going through right now, Maggie, divorce or something else, but I advise you get an attorney involved, if you haven’t already.”

“I have. And she will be in touch soon.”

Sandra Martindale gave her a sympathetic look as she stepped out, which only made Maggie want to slap her. Hard.

Of course, she wouldn’t. It wasn’t the banker’s fault. No use taking her frustrations out on an innocent party.

But fuck her. And her goddamn sympathy.

After she’d leftthe bank, Maggie spent a few hours contemplating their current situation. Make no mistake, this was a family situation, not just hers, because having no money was going to affect them all.

Unfortunately, she’d not come up with any immediate solutions.

Her mind rolled around the day’s events, and how she might solve this current problem while she made dinner for the kids. The tuna casserole she’d teased about a few days ago was their dinner that night, along with cornbread and salad. They had ice cream in the freezer for dessert, if anyone wanted.

There would be complaints, she was certain, but no one ever died from tuna casserole. Right?

Cooking relaxed her, especially when Max wasn’t around. She rather enjoyed it, to be honest. All the years she’d kept the house, did the laundry, cooked, and cleaned—she really hadn’t minded it all that much. In fact, she’d rather enjoyed being “domestic.” She didn’t have to worry about getting off to work in the morning, scheduling work priorities around her family’s schedules, and the like. She’d witnessed her friends’ chaotic lives, balancing work and home life—and she’d never had to do that.

To be honest, she’d never wanted to.

But today, she’d felt so inadequate when the card wouldn’t work, and the prissy girl behind the counter made her feel like she’d just committed a crime, or something. Humiliation didn’t begin to cover how she’d felt. At the bank, her emotions took a completely different turn—she felt the woman’s pity for her, which only angered her. Sandra Martindale had strived for empathy, she assumed, but it wasn’t received that way. At that moment in the bank office, Maggie hadn’t needed her patronizing words or condescending attitude.