When he told me that his company was offering him a position in Montreal, I was the first to congratulate him.
"This is the biggest opportunity of my career," he told me. "It will only be for two years, Sarah. After that, we can invest more here in France… maybe even start our own business."
Two years apart.
Two years during which I would remain to manage our apartments in Lyon and Bordeaux, our investments, our life.
I trusted him.
Because he was my husband.
Because I loved him.
Up to three days before the alleged flight.
He came home early with several boxes.
"I'm getting a head start," he said enthusiastically. "Everything is more expensive there."
While he was taking a shower, I went into the office to look for the notary's documents. His laptop was open.
I wasn't looking for anything.
But I found everything.
A confirmation email.
Luxury apartment for rent in the 7th arrondissement of Paris.
Fully furnished.
Two-year contract.
Two registered residents:
