50.It had not even been five minutes since I signed the divorce papers when my ex-husband answered his mistress’s call in front of me and told her, in the softest voice I had ever heard from him, that he was on his way to see “their baby.”

Three weeks later, the fallout in New York was total. David’s firm had been raided by the authorities. Without the "Harlow inheritance" money he had promised his parents, his father’s estate was in foreclosure.

David tried to call me repeatedly. I didn't answer. I had blocked every number. But one evening, my brother Nick, who had stayed behind to handle the real estate sales, called me.

"You wouldn't believe it, Catherine," Nick said, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "Allison left him the day after the clinic incident. She took what was left in the joint account and disappeared. David is living in a studio apartment in Queens. He’s drowning in legal fees, and the firm is suing him for every cent he embezzled."

"And the family?" I asked.

"Linda is furious, but she’s also broke. They’re all blaming each other. They’re tearing themselves apart."

I looked out the window of my new flat in Chelsea, overlooking the quiet, ivy-covered streets of London. My children were playing in the next room, safe and happy.