Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE VICTOR NEVER OWNED
The house had belonged to my mother.
That fact eventually ruined Victor’s plan.
My parents bought the Brookline property in 1978, long before houses on their street cost more than most people would earn in a lifetime.
My father died first.
Mom stayed.
When she died twelve years later, she left the property entirely to me.
Victor was not on the deed.
We had already been married seventeen years, but Mom had been explicit.
“This is yours, Sarah.”
At the time, Victor said he understood.
“Of course. It’s your family home.”
We moved into it anyway.
Raised our daughter there until she left for college.
Renovated the kitchen.
Replaced the roof.
Built a small office above the garage.
Victor called it “our house” socially.
Legally, it remained mine.
That difference never mattered until he decided to give it away.
Victor had always liked grand gestures.
Flowers after arguments.
Jewelry after missed anniversaries.
Expensive vacations when conversation became difficult.
For years, I mistook generosity for intimacy.
Rita entered our lives through his company.
She was a commercial leasing consultant.
Forty-six.
Polished.
Beautiful.
Divorced.
I met her twice.
At a fundraising dinner, she told me Victor talked about me constantly.
Apparently he did.
Just not kindly.
The affair began nearly two years before the transplant.
I learned that later.
While Victor’s kidneys were failing, Rita became the person who saw him as powerful instead of sick.
That mattered to him.
Illness frightened Victor because it made him dependent.
He hated dependence.
Even on me.
Especially on me.
When I matched as a donor, he cried.
“You’re giving me my life back.”
I believed gratitude would bring us closer.
Instead, Victor seems to have experienced my sacrifice as proof that I would never leave.
That certainty made him reckless.
Three weeks before surgery, he persuaded me to sign a limited power of attorney.
“Only for emergencies while we’re both recovering.”
I read it.
Mostly.
It allowed him to handle certain household matters if medication or complications prevented me from doing them myself.
I insisted my attorney review it.
Victor complained.
I insisted anyway.
That decision probably saved my house.
My attorney added restrictions.
No transfer of my separately owned real estate.
No gifts.
No self-dealing.
No changes to beneficiaries.
Victor knew that.
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What I did not know was that he and Rita had already begun looking for another route.
The packet that landed under my curtain was their unfinished attempt.
