At my husband’s funeral, his mother introduced his pregnant girlfriend as “the woman he really loved.” I stood in uniform, silent, until the chaplain read the benefits paperwork naming me sole beneficiary.

Beatrice’s bail was set at $500,000. Because her assets were frozen by the federal government under the RICO act, she couldn't pay it. The woman who had proudly stood at a military funeral and tried to strip a widow of her dignity was now wearing an orange jumpsuit in a federal detention center.

Jessica, realizing she was heavily pregnant, massively in debt, and entirely abandoned, attempted one final, pathetic play.

She showed up at the Naval base gates, demanding to speak with me. The military police escorted her to a visitor room. I walked in and sat across the metal table.

“Eleanor, please,” Jessica wept, looking haggard and defeated. “I have nothing. The creditors are threatening to garnish my wages for the rest of my life. I can't afford the baby. You have the life insurance. You have a military salary. Help me.”

I looked at her without an ounce of sympathy. “You stood at my husband’s grave, smiled, and tried to publicly humiliate me. You thought you had won the lottery by sleeping with a married officer. You gambled with my life, Jessica.”

“I’m sorry! I was stupid!” she sobbed.

“Yes, you were,” I agreed. “I am not your savior. I am the wife of the man you helped destroy. The only advice I will give you is to file for Chapter 7 bankruptcy and move back in with your parents.”

I stood up and walked to the door.