I cried when I took my husband to the Mexico City airport because “he was going to Toronto for two years”

… but when I got home, I transferred $650,000 to my personal account and filed for divorce.

From the outside, James seemed like the perfect husband. Responsible. Attentive. Ambitious.
We lived in a spacious house in Lomas de Chapultepec. On weekends we had breakfast in Polanco, walked along Reforma, made plans like any stable, upper-class couple in Mexico City.

When he told me that his company was offering him a position in Toronto, I was the first to celebrate.

“This is my big opportunity,” he told me. “It will only be two years, Sarah. After that, we can invest more heavily here in Mexico… maybe even open something of our own.”

Two years apart.
Two years in which I would stay behind managing our properties in Querétaro and Monterrey, our investments, our lives.

I trusted him.
Because he was my husband.
Because I loved him.

Up to three days before the supposed flight.

He arrived early with several boxes.

“I’m getting ahead on things,” she said enthusiastically. “Everything is more expensive there.”

While she was showering, I went into the study to look for some notary papers. Her laptop was open.

I wasn’t looking for anything.
But I found everything.

A confirmed email.