My suitcase hit the pavement when a stranger grabbed my arm seconds before the bus doors closed. “Your husband needs you out of town tomorrow,” she whispered as the driver pulled away without me. She showed me a real-estate listing for the Grandview apartment I shared with Thomas and our 11-year-old daughter, Chloe. The price had been slashed, the paperwork was ready, and a buyer had already submitted a deposit. Thomas was using a power of attorney I had signed two years earlier during a failed attempt to purchase a Westlake house. Before that morning, I had never imagined my husband of 12 years might be preparing to sell our home behind my back.