Before the Bikers Arrived: The Life I Thought Was Falling Apart
We had two children—Sophie and Michael—whom I adored more than anything in this world.
Our home wasn’t luxurious, but it was filled with memories, laughter, and warmth. My husband, Daniel, kissed my forehead every morning and told me he loved me before he left for work.
I trusted him completely. I believed our marriage was stable, solid, and unshakeable.
That illusion shattered the day I came home early from my shift at the clinic.
I remember the floral scent of a perfume I didn’t own drifting down the hallway. I remember hearing laughter—young, breathy, unfamiliar.
And then I opened the bedroom door and found my husband with his twenty-four-year-old secretary. Her lipstick was smeared. His shirt was unbuttoned. My heart felt like it had turned to glass and shattered inside my chest.
Daniel begged me to “talk things through,” but his remorse lasted just long enough for him to realize the consequences.
I sold everything: my car, my wedding ring, furniture, electronics, and eventually every valuable item we owned.
Each sale felt like losing another piece of the life I had spent nearly two decades building.
Even with all of that, the bills kept coming—faster than I could pay them. I juggled three part-time jobs, slept four hours a night, and still couldn’t keep up. When our electricity company issued a final warning, I knew I had run out of options.
That’s how I ended up on my driveway on that Saturday morning, setting out tables filled with every meaningful possession my family owned. I prayed strangers would pay enough to keep the lights on for one more month.
