we met in 2022. by november, i needed brandon’s gaming unit and shoes out of my garage so i could study. a modest f*cking opening request. remove your belongings. let me learn something. preferably about a different man.

on november 21, i emailed about the pickup. we had taken things apart to fit his stuff; now there was wood to get into the dumpster and empty space that hurt to look at. i wanted the rest gone. i also wanted him to stop being cold to me. these desires were having an extremely unproductive meeting in my head.

he was going to dallas. i hadn’t realized he was going without us. we worked through another possible day, and he replied, “Cool.” i asked him not to be mean. he thought all this emailing was weird.

(enjoy that opinion while it lasts.)

by november 27 and 28, we were still negotiating clothes, a pickup time, and money. he wanted the date confirmed before sending it. i wanted an actual time in the calendar. i told him i had been about to ask him to study with me before the call got hurtful.

yes, i wanted him out of the garage and next to me studying. i contain multitudes. some of them needed to get a f✘cking grip.

that is where this starts: with schoolwork, a breakup, and me still hoping the person making everything difficult might also be the person who made it better. i wanted his shoes gone and his personality improved. one of those was a pickup request. the other was apparently a long-term research project.

by early 2023, we were emailing about drinking, missing prescription medication, money, and his belongings. i was worried about him. i was pissed as hell at him. i was also offering to go to a recovery meeting with him. very busy being three different girlfriends at once. all of them tired as sh*t.

on february 2, the offer was a calendar invitation. he said he was attending his own meetings and would be working then. the exchange detoured through comcast, cards, clothes, and his accusation that i was harassing him. we could start with something frightening and end with a sweatshirt. the sweatshirt consistently received excellent representation.

on february 3, i wrote that he had taken medication and owed me money. those were my allegations in the email. his reply said he was sorry, recovering, and hadn’t touched anything in three weeks. then he asked about his stuff.

i wanted the apology to mean something could finally change. i was trying to date the man in the apology. unfortunately, he was not the man answering the rest of the emails.

on february 23, he sent another apology. he asked me not to post it, thanked me for loving him, apologized to me and my family, and said he was changing jobs to get farther from alcohol. he wrote, “I am also so sorry I have to keep telling you I’m sorry.”

sir. even the apology had noticed.

then came the sweatshirt and shoes again. remorse, a new beginning, footwear. incredible emotional range. i wanted to believe the part about the new beginning, so when we reunited that spring, i thought we were finally working through it.

reader, i was putting a frankly irresponsible amount of faith in the word “through.”

on june 20, i sat down with brandon and ross alisiani to discuss the financial-adviser career. sales cycles, recurring revenue, insurance, investments, and how we would support ourselves while he got established. my income and his va income were part of the conversation.

ross later acknowledged learning that the household could support itself through those sources. i was right there, discussing how we lived and what we could afford. this mattered because the plan required us to survive the part before the income arrived. “us” included the pregnant woman already earning it.

on july 13, tricia fleckenstein took us through a financial-planning meeting. in her discovery response, she called it a mock meeting for his training. she also confirmed using the firm’s factfinder, entering our actual household information, and storing it in the client system and/or onedrive.

mock meeting. real money. cute distinction. my bank was unfamiliar with the genre.

we discussed coverage we could afford. she recommended term and disability insurance and said to wait until brandon was licensed so he could earn the commission on our family’s policies. his career and our household finances were being built around each other.

i understood the arrangement as helping him get established so he could help support us. i kept paying: living costs, licensing, transportation, the milwaukee annual meeting. i sent ross $500 toward brandon’s hotel expenses, a payment he later acknowledged.

the defendants dispute the broader duties and responsibility i allege. the meetings and the spending are why those questions exist. i heard a professional plan for our future and committed money on that understanding.

everybody was talking about what the money would do later. mine was leaving rn.

i cleaned houses and taught yoga through the pregnancy. i worked, money came in, and then it went back out to keep our household and his career moving. the promised stability remained slightly ahead of us, like a man texting “five minutes away” from inside his own shower.

during this period, i went through roughly $8,000 in tuition refunds and more than $10,000 in savings—the amounts i later set out in my declaration. that was my cushion. tuition. emergency money. the ability to make a different decision if i needed to. i was spending the room i would later need to get out.

i also made plans around assurances about military education benefits. an assurance, i eventually learned, is not an approved transfer. would have loved that distinction before arranging my f✘cking life around it.

i brought a paid-off crosstrek into the relationship. in autumn 2023, we arranged the forester purchase so he could use the crosstrek. the second-car obligation already existed before the january crash. first the extra commitment; later the loss of the paid-off car. the order matters because that is how the pressure built.

his work messages discussed commissions and bonuses. i needed money that had reached the account. potential has a very luxurious relationship with the present when somebody else is covering its a**.

it happened payment by payment. this would get him started. that would get us through the month. the next opportunity would justify what we had already spent. i kept funding the next step while the ground under me got smaller.

for a man whose potential was this expensive, actual results were taking their sweet-a** time.

on november 4, while i was pregnant, he strangled me with both hands. i was afraid for myself and our baby. my account of that incident appears in the amended protection-order papers.

then i still had work to do.

the sent folder contains teacher-training assignments, class schedules, sequencing notes, and links for students. a december weekend schedule went out deep into my third trimester. i was still teaching people how to move and breathe while trying to get through what was happening at home.

you could have received a completely ordinary work email from me. that email would have told you i had sent the schedule. absolutely f*ck-all about whether i was safe.

i still loved him. the december messages include affection and a wedding photograph. i wanted the man i loved to become someone i could safely live with. that was the hope i kept returning to after each frightening part.

later, a woman would tell me she met him online around december, under a different name, presenting himself as single. i did not know that then. i was working, pregnant, and preparing for the baby we had planned.

he apparently had a version of this period without a wife. mine had considerably more lifting.

on january 22, brandon crashed my paid-off crosstrek. our daughter was due to arrive in three days.

i told him we had $50. i told him how close the birth was. he apologized, discussed insurance, and said he had been taking the dogs out. i was trying to understand what had happened and how we were supposed to handle it with the money we actually had.

his messages with jess included a request to borrow $50 and a later report of the accident. she asked whether he was okay. he said he was. in my conversation, the problem was also the household: the car, the money, and the extremely imminent baby.

we already had the forester obligation. now the paid-off crosstrek was unavailable too. the claim brought an appraisal, rental arrangements, a driver statement, car agreements, and later repair and salvage questions. a wreck is surprisingly committed to remaining in your life after the wrecking is finished. persistent little b*tch.

our daughter arrived on january 25. i gave birth by caesarean. i needed to recover from surgery and learn how to care for her while the household was already financially and emotionally exhausted.

the baby was excellent. the adult situation had some f★cking notes.

on february 26, the insurer confirmed a total loss and proposed a $12,477.11 owner payment after the deductible. by then, the claim had occupied more than a month that was also my recovery and my daughter’s first weeks.

i wanted to be absorbed in my newborn. instead, i also needed an opinion on the future of a wrecked subaru. ngl, the birth plan had been less automotive.

on july 7, brandon wrote a letter supporting my readmission to law school. he praised my resilience and my goal of finishing my education. he knew exactly what i was working toward. he endorsed it in writing.

i wanted to raise our daughter, stabilize our home, and finish the degree. school meant tuition, borrowing, applications, deadlines, and finding time to study while caring for an infant. i was committing to that future believing my husband supported it.

by autumn, he would accuse me of being wrapped up in my dream of law school. same dream. same woman. apparently ambition was inspirational until it needed space on the family calendar. then i was being a b*tch about having a future.

the fear at home had also continued. on august 13, he tossed our infant toward me, raised his fist while i held her, and threatened to hit me. i later described that incident in the amended protection-order papers. new jersey had not become the safe reset i wanted.

the anniversary photograph still exists. so does the letter. i remember wanting the life they seem to show. i also remember being afraid while holding our daughter. those things happened inside the same marriage.

and later i was supposed to defend the ambition he had personally recommended to the admissions committee. buddy. your letter is right f✘cking here.

jess had access to my private instagram while she was involved in our financial arrangements. that access made sense to me within a relationship i trusted. later, discovery showed my posts becoming part of her private conversations with brandon.

on september 29, he asked her to tell him if i posted about him, including stories. the next day, she agreed and said nothing had been posted yet.

we were still married. he had not left for texas. this was already happening before the public storytelling everybody later became so concerned about.

put that next to the policy conversations. i was answering questions, signing documents, considering what to do with my retirement money. the person i understood to be helping with our finances was also agreeing to report on my private posts to my husband.

i had come for financial advice. apparently my instagram was receiving more active management.

finding the request and agreement changed how i understood the earlier trust. i had been making decisions without knowing this was also part of the relationship.

that is why the money belongs in the marriage story. the two were tangled together while i was relying on people to tell me what i needed to know. i was trying to protect a family. meanwhile, somebody needed an update on whether i had posted a f*cking story.

my mother bought a camper for about $6,500 so we could live more independently. i put roughly another $1,500 to $2,000 in repairs and improvements on my amazon card. it was a place to live, made possible by help from family and more debt for me.

days before the move, brandon decided it wasn’t good enough. he called me “white trash,” attacked me for being in law school, and pressured me to liquidate the approximately $12,000 retirement account i still had to pay his personal debts, including debts from before the marriage.

bro. you cannot insult the accommodation and then ask the accommodation’s daughter for her retirement.

my mother had bought somewhere to live. i had spent more making it workable. his review of this effort somehow included a demand for the last cushion i hadn’t already surrendered. the standards were high. the proposed contribution was mine. funny how that sh*t kept working.

on october 2, i emailed a list of what we needed to settle before he left: money, contact with the baby, a forwarding address, and his actual plan. i was working and falling behind on schoolwork. i needed to know what support would exist when he was somewhere else.

on october 8, i laid out the stopped deposits, overdue bills, promised support, car, insurance, and tuition balance. i also said i was willing to work through things. still trying to turn a departure into a conversation. absolutely heroic faith in paragraph structure.

he left for texas. i stayed with our daughter and the obligations built around our family.

the camper had failed his standards. leaving us with the rest apparently passed. the man had become very discerning about a life other people were paying for.

on october 23, i explained the money situation. the colorado cleaning accounts i still had were gone because i couldn’t find consistent help. i was teaching a few yoga classes and cleaning a few times a month. the car payment, insurance on both vehicles, life-insurance premiums, and the other bills remained enthusiastically enrolled.

my savings were gone. the money from my last teacher training was gone. my mother was advancing what our daughter needed. i could barely afford gas. i told him i might have to leave law school after the semester.

i had an infant, fewer ways to earn, and the same obligations. this was what his departure meant on my side of the conversation. it was not mysterious. i had even written it down.

in the same thread, he said authorities had been notified and mentioned money he had sent and documented for them. the next day, he said jackson township police had tried to call about his medication. the police discussion concerned the medication and mail dispute. i experienced it as pressure while i was already trying to explain a financial emergency.

i said i could barely buy gas. somehow the conversation acquired police. could we perhaps return to the broke wife and the actual f*cking baby.

familyalbum had become another place his messages appeared. the preserved notifications show why an app for baby pictures stopped feeling simple. inbox, phone, baby app: the same relationship could reach me through all of them while my daughter still needed my attention in person.

i kept explaining because i needed an answer. at some point, i was writing increasingly clear paragraphs to a man with a highly selective relationship with reading. my law professors would have loved this level of revision. wrong audience, apparently.

on october 30, i obtained a temporary restraining order in new jersey. an amended order followed in december. i described the violence, threats, and fear because i needed protection.

that meant going back through what happened, when, what was said, and what i could show. i was doing it while caring for an infant, trying to stay in school, and trying to provide for her. remembering the worst parts was now another task that had to fit around feeding the baby.

on november 3, after i obtained the temporary order, he emailed with a subject saying he loved me and our daughter. the whole body was “Please text me.” i had finally asked for distance. his next contribution was a request for my attention.

three words. after all my paragraphs. apparently brevity was available when he wanted something.

the order mattered. it did not replenish my savings, restore the cleaning work, settle the car claim, or pay tuition. the practical consequences had impressive stamina. wish we’d seen that sh*t in the marriage.

i also reported the earlier colorado violence. events in one state, protection proceedings in another, a husband elsewhere. explaining the same history repeatedly took time i also needed for my daughter and for the life i was trying to rebuild.

“she left” sounds so completed. two words and the audience can relax. i had moved, sought protection, and started separating our lives. the consequences continued arriving as if nobody had told them.

i wanted safety, enough money to function, and a minute to read. outrageous list. someone alert the f★cking press.

the northwestern mutual questions became a civil case. i wanted answers about the advice, the household plan, the private relationships, and the information i say i should have had before committing my money. the companies and individual defendants disputed my account and their responsibility.

discovery started putting conversations next to memories. the january transfers. the messages about my instagram. the recruitment discussions. our household finances. moments i remembered as help now had an entirely separate conversation beside them.

there are two dates running through this story: when something happened and when i learned what else had been happening. in 2023 and 2024, i was making decisions with the information i had. in 2025 and 2026, the missing context began arriving. tremendous delivery window.

i would reread something i had sent while pregnant, scared, or grateful and then read what somebody else had said outside my view. the younger version of me was still in the first message, trying very hard. the current version had to keep scrolling.

this is the bit that f✘cks with your memory. the day itself hasn’t changed. what you thought you understood about it has. i had to reconsider the trust behind decisions i was still paying for.

meanwhile, my daughter was growing. school had deadlines. the house needed money. every hour spent reconstructing the past was an hour claimed from the present. there was no spare me assigned to the unpleasant reading.

i wanted the answers. i would have preferred receiving them before the decisions. apparently that was the premium package.

among the messages later produced was a discussion of asking seven friends to report my account in pursuit of a permanent ban. seven. i had struggled to get dependable help with the actual household. apparently the instagram situation could assemble a f*cking ensemble cast.

that crop is undated; the whole reporting outcome isn’t established. reading the plan still changed how i understood the attention that followed. i had been trying to describe my life; other people were discussing how to make the account disappear.

after brandon’s august 20 release in the colorado case, i received more online contact the next morning, including from an account using a familiar family name. i preserved the timing. i could not identify every operator, and timing alone doesn’t do that work.

it still landed inside a life with a protection order, a child, and years of fear behind it. a notification could be a tiny thing on the screen and a very large interruption to my ability to concentrate.

do i recognize it? do i save it? is it relevant? is it another part of the same pattern? i could lose the time before i had even worked out what the thing meant. my phone was managing to make me tired without requiring me to answer it.

crop that down to one alert and it looks petty. put the years back and you can see why i wanted to be left alone.

seven friends. for my instagram. anyway, still accepting that level of enthusiasm for childcare.

by 2026, old events kept arriving with new information attached. a payment record. a discovery response. somebody else’s conversation beside a day i remembered living through. i was comparing what i had been told with what the records actually showed.

some details supported my memory. others needed tightening. the forester commitment preceded the crosstrek crash; the insurer’s total-loss determination came later. those were different events with overlapping consequences. the sequence was already bad enough without me f*cking up the math.

the may 26 financial statement i described in my august declaration reported zero child support and maintenance. i was still carrying the household. yes, the earlier $300 happened. so did all the months after it.

i was raising a toddler and staying in school while representing myself. the person preparing the case was also the person who had lived it and the person my daughter needed. everybody was me. frankly, i was getting sick of the b*tch.

the reading took concentration, and it was about things that hurt. earning money took time, and so did the case. my daughter needed a parent, not somebody permanently half-looking at another message about the past.

i wanted my education. i wanted answers. i wanted an afternoon that didn’t end with me knowing something worse about a year i had already survived. idk, seemed reasonable.

and whenever attention drifted to my tone, there was the sequence again: what happened, then what it cost, then what i said about it. the reaction did not travel backward in time and cause the marriage. basic chronology. apparently an advanced elective.

on july 31, his lawyer demanded removal of references and further restrictions on posting. the dispute returned in an august 17 renewed motion.

paragraph 20 relayed his account of a warning allegedly given at a conference. counsel said they hadn’t attended and acknowledged that no written order from that conference referenced the warning. i disputed the claimed blanket restriction in my response. a lawyer’s demand is not itself a new court order.

the distinction matters. so does the experience: i had lived the events, paid for the consequences, sought protection, and spent years getting the records. now considerable effort was going into what i should be allowed to say about them.

at the same time, i was preserving the online pattern described in my declaration: views, requests, renamed accounts, and contact extending toward people close to me. a post using purge language frightened me in that context. it did not name me, and i couldn’t identify every account operator. i could be unsure who was behind an account and still be scared as sh*t by what i was seeing.

i wanted room to raise my daughter, keep going to school, and tell my own story. instead, explaining the aftermath had acquired an aftermath. impressive commitment to the franchise.

from where i sat, the requested performance was extraordinary: absorb the damage, handle the consequences, and please make the description easier on everyone else.

sorry about the language. the experience was also quite f✘cking rude.