Chicago,” I told the dispatcher.
She asked whether I lived there.
“Yes.”
Whether my name was on the lease.
“There is no lease. I own the property.”
“Is anyone currently inside?”
“My husband.”
“And he changed the locks?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have proof of ownership?”
“Yes,” I said. “The condo was purchased before my marriage. The recorded deed is in my name only.”
The door opened, revealing Michael barefoot, calm, and wearing the gray lounge set I’d given him for Christmas. Then a woman called from inside.
“Michael? Who’s at
