I cried when I took my husband to the airport in New Delhi because he was “leaving for two years to Toronto”… but when I returned home, I transferred $650,000 to my personal account and filed for divorce.
I trusted him.
Because he was my husband.
Because I loved him.
Until three days before the supposed flight.
He came home early with several boxes.
“I’m getting things ready,” he said enthusiastically. “Everything is more expensive there.”
While he showered, I went into the study to look for some documents from our lawyer. His laptop was open.
I wasn’t searching for anything.
But I found everything.
A confirmed email.
Luxury apartment rental in Gurugram.
Fully furnished.
Two-year contract.
Two registered residents:
James…
Erica.
And an additional note: “Please include a crib in the master bedroom.”
A crib.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
I read every line.
Start date: the same day as his “flight to Canada.”
He wasn’t going to Toronto.
He was moving 30 minutes from our house.
And not only that.
Erica was pregnant.
I thought about our joint account at a bank in Connaught Place.
$650,000.
Most of it came from the inheritance my parents left me when they died in a car accident on the Jaipur highway years ago.
He had insisted we merge everything “for marital transparency.”
Now I understood.
His plan was to fake a life abroad, withdraw money gradually, and finance his new family… without me suspecting a thing.
At Indira Gandhi International Airport, he hugged me in front of everyone.
“This is for us,” he whispered.
I cried.
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