How could I have known?

"Oh, my God!" I thundered aloud, not believing what I read. How could I have known, and yet I should have.

Two weeks ago, three days before Girard made his little announcement, I'd sent him this e-mail I was now re-reading, no idea what was brewing in his mind, telling him where the money was. The retirement accounts, bank accounts, investments – phone numbers to call the firms, the respective account numbers. I must be ruined by now, and today was Saturday. Everyone was closed except for the 800 customer disservice numbers. Eighteen hours I’d have to wait.

I should've figured it out when Girard suggested we get married, after five years of saying he wanted flexibility in relationship. Sure, he wanted to get married – but he kept the “flexibility.” Not long after that, the infidelities began, and then he got Rachel pregnant. I didn’t find out about that until after he made that horrible announcement – while I was driving a car down the I-280 – that he wanted to break up. All the Google money I’d worked so hard to save – and he’d get half of it. Girard, who never saved a penny in his life, would get half of it in the divorce. And he’d waste it away in just a couple of years on cruises, trips, botox, booze, and Xanax.

I should’ve known. I should’ve known the relationship was over when he asked me to marry him.