Either you go and clean my mother’s apartment right now, my husband said, or tomorrow I file for divorce — six months out of work, living on my salary, saying it with a beer in his hand. I didn’t argue. I took the keys and walked out. What was behind his mother’s door turned that threat around on him inside forty minutes.
PART 1 — TAKE THEM It started over a couch. I was having breakfast in my own apartment on Fenwick Row on a Saturday in the March when I heard something hitting the door frame,…









