My Husband Drained $18,000 From Our Account While I Was Giving Birth. I Found Out When I Couldn’t Even Afford Baby Formula. What Do I Do Now?
Meeting Mrs. Hartley
A few minutes later, an older woman with silver hair and kind eyes came out from a back office.
“Mrs. Patterson, I’m Dorothy Hartley, the branch manager. Why don’t we talk in my office?”,.
I followed her, carrying David’s carrier, feeling like I was walking through a dream, a nightmare. In her office, she closed the door.
“What can I help you with today?”
“This account,” I said, sliding the statement across her desk. “My husband and I opened it three years ago. But all this money is gone, and I don’t know where it went.”
Mrs. Hartley looked at the statement, then at me. Really looked at me, at my rumpled clothes, my unwashed hair, the dark circles under my eyes, the slight tremor in my hands.
“Mrs. Patterson,” she said gently, “does your husband know you’re here?”
“No. Why would he need to know? It’s my account too.”
“When was the last time you accessed this account yourself?”
I thought about it.
“I… not since before I went on maternity leave 8 weeks ago. Robert said he’d handle everything while I was focused on the baby.”
“And did he tell you he was making these withdrawals?”
“No.”
Mrs. Hartley was quiet for a moment, then she said, “I’ve been a bank manager for 23 years. I’ve seen this before. Not often, but enough times to recognize it.”,.
“Recognize what?”
“Financial abuse, dear.”
The Harsh Reality
The words hit me like cold water.
“That’s not… Robert wouldn’t… He’s just handling our finances.”
“Does he give you access to account statements?”
“No.”
“But does he require you to ask permission before spending money?”
“Well, yes, but that’s just because…”
“Does he control who you see? Who you talk to?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come because she was right. All of it was right.
“Where did the money go?” I whispered.
Mrs. Hartley pulled out a different set of papers.
“These are copies of the withdrawal receipts. Would you like me to walk you through them?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“February 2nd, the day before your son was born, your husband withdrew $2,500 cash.”
“But why?”
“February 14th, Valentine’s Day: $1,500. March 1st: 2,000. March 8th: $1,800.”
She looked up at me.
“Mrs. Patterson, did your husband give you anything for Valentine’s Day?”
I shook my head.
“He said we needed to save money for the baby.”
“These withdrawals total over $18,000 in 6 weeks.”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe. $18,000 gone while I was in the hospital, while I was home recovering, counting pennies for formula.
“What do I do?” My voice came out small, childlike.
A Plan for Escape
Mrs. Hartley reached across the desk, placed her hand over mine.
“First, we document everything. I’m going to make you copies of all these statements. Second, you need to move your money somewhere safe. Do you have any accounts that are just in your name?”
“No. We combined everything when we got married.”
“Then we’re going to open you a new account today, just in your name. Do you have any income right now?”
“I’m on maternity leave. I’ll go back to work in three more weeks.”
“When you do, you’ll direct your paycheck to this new account. Do not tell your husband about it.”
“But Mrs. Patterson,” she said firmly, “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”
“I was married to a man like your husband for 15 years. He controlled every penny, isolated me from my family, made me believe I was crazy for questioning him. It took me losing everything, being left with nothing but the clothes on my back, to finally understand what was happening.”,
She rolled up her sleeve. I could see a long scar running from her wrist to her elbow.
“That was the night I finally tried to leave. He broke my arm in three places. Told the hospital I fell down the stairs.”
I stared at the scar, at her face, at the truth I’d been avoiding.
“I got out,” she continued, “but it took me years to rebuild. I’m telling you this because I don’t want that to be your story. I want you to protect yourself and your son now, while you still can.”
“He’s never hit me,” I said.
“Yet,” she replied. “But he’s already isolated you, controlled your money, made you dependent on him. These are the warning signs, Margaret. They always escalate.”
David started fussing in his carrier. I picked him up, held him close, breathed in his baby smell.
“What do I do?” I asked again.
“We start here,” Mrs. Hartley said. “We open the account, we document everything, then you talk to a lawyer. Not today, not when you’re overwhelmed, but soon.”
The Confrontation
We spent the next hour setting up a new account. Mrs. Hartley gave me detailed copies of all the joint account transactions. She also wrote down the name of a lawyer, a woman she knew who handled divorce cases.
“I’m not saying you have to divorce him,” she said as I was leaving. “But you need to know your options and you need to protect yourself financially.”
When I got home, Robert’s car was in the driveway. I felt a spike of fear. He was supposed to be at work. I walked in with David, trying to look casual. Robert was standing in the living room, arms crossed.
“Where were you?”
“Just running errands. Getting some fresh air.”
“What kind of errands?”
“Formula, diapers. You know.”
He walked toward me.
“Try again.”
My heart started pounding.
“What do you mean?”
“The bank called. They said you were asking questions about our account, making a scene.”
“I wasn’t making a scene. I just wanted to know our balance.”
“You wanted to spy on me.”
“It’s my account too, Robert. I have every right.”
“You have rights?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You haven’t contributed a dime in 2 months. You’re on leave. I’m paying for everything. The mortgage, the utilities, the food, your medical bills.”,.
“My medical bills? That insurance covered.”
“Not all of it. Do you know how much that transfusion cost? How much those extra days in the hospital were? I almost died and I paid for it. I’m taking care of you, taking care of our son, and this is the thanks I get? You going behind my back, questioning me to strangers?”
