He Said, “You’ll Never Touch My Money Again.” the Judge Read My Letter and Couldn’t Stop Laughing
The wooden chair felt cold beneath me as I sat with my hands folded in my lap like a good little wife. Benjamin sat across from me at his lawyer’s table, his expensive suit perfectly pressed, his smile wide and confident. He looked like he had already won. Maybe he thought he had. «You’ll never touch my money again,» he whispered to me, just loud enough for his lawyer to hear. His voice carried that same tone he used when he told me I couldn’t buy groceries without asking first or when he explained why I didn’t need my own credit card anymore.
He looked proud, like a hunter who had just caught the biggest prize of his life. Veronica sat in the gallery behind him, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on her designer purse. She leaned forward slightly, her red lips curving into a smile that made my stomach turn.
«That’s right, sweetheart,» she said softly, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. She called him sweetheart the same way I used to, back when I thought our marriage meant something, back when I thought the man I married actually existed. Dorothy, Benjamin’s mother, sat beside Veronica like they were old friends planning a tea party.
Her silver hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her cold blue eyes looked at me like I was something dirty she had stepped in. She had never liked me, not from the day Benjamin brought me home eight years ago. I wasn’t good enough for her precious son, she always said, not rich enough, not classy enough, not worthy of the Foster family name.
«She doesn’t deserve a cent,» Dorothy said, her voice carrying across the quiet room. She smiled when she said it, the same smile she gave me every Christmas when she handed me a gift card to Target while giving Veronica expensive jewelry. Even before the affair, Dorothy had been planning my replacement.
My lawyer, Mr. Peterson, sat beside me shuffling through papers. He looked nervous, like he knew we were about to lose everything. Benjamin’s legal team had three lawyers, all from the most expensive firm in the city.
They had briefcases full of documents showing how I had never worked, how I had no skills, how I deserved nothing more than basic support. They painted me as a gold digger who had trapped their poor, innocent client. Judge Hawkins, a woman in her 50s with sharp eyes and graying hair, had been listening to their arguments all morning.
She had a reputation for being tough but fair. She didn’t smile much, and she didn’t seem impressed by expensive suits or fancy lawyers. But even she looked like she was ready to rule in Benjamin’s favor.
«Your Honor,» Benjamin’s lead lawyer said, standing up with a thick folder in his hands, «my client has been more than generous. Mrs. Foster has no work experience, no education beyond high school, and no assets of her own. She lived a comfortable life for eight years without contributing anything to the household income.»
«A modest monthly allowance is more than fair.» I wanted to laugh. No work experience? I had managed Benjamin’s entire social calendar, organized his business dinners, and handled all the household management that kept his life running smoothly.