…”the bride. Melissa Grant. And your signature on the application looks forged.”
My attorney, Laura, laid the policy on the table. It was a two-million-dollar life insurance policy. My husband, Craig, had filled it out three months after my diagnosis and named his fiancée as the beneficiary. Craig had told the insurance company Melissa was my “sister.”
I don’t have a sister.
Laura didn’t waste a minute. She contacted the insurance company, which froze the policy and opened a fraud investigation. She also called the police, because forging a spouse’s signature on a life insurance policy for a girlfriend’s benefit was not something she was willing to treat as a simple divorce issue.
Then she said something I’ll never forget. “You need to be safe first and angry later.” That night I moved into my brother’s house. My oncologist moved my treatment schedule so Craig wouldn’t know where I’d be.
The investigation moved quickly. Melissa, it turned out, had no idea Craig was married. He’d told her he was a widower. When detectives showed her my photograph, she was horrified and gave them every message he’d ever sent her, including one where he wrote, “Our future is secured, just be patient.”
Craig was charged with insurance fraud and forgery. His lawyer tried to say the policy was “planning for the worst.” The judge didn’t believe that, and neither did anyone else.
In the divorce, the court ordered Craig to repay every dollar I’d spent on my treatment from selling my jewelry, plus his share of the medical bills he’d claimed we couldn’t afford. The $70,000 he’d spent on the wedding was counted as marital money he had wasted.
I finished chemotherapy in the spring and radiation in the summer. Last month, my doctor told me there’s no evidence of disease. My brother cried harder than I did.
Melissa sent me a letter after the trial. She said she was sorry and that she’d canceled everything: the venue, the flowers, the honeymoon. She’d donated her wedding dress to a cancer charity that holds celebrations for patients finishing treatment.
I went to one of those celebrations. A young woman, twenty-six, wore the dress to ring the bell on her last day of chemo. She looked beautiful. It was the best possible ending for that dress.
