Men trust God by risking rejection. Women trust God by waiting. (Carolyn McCulley)

I met with my financial advisor and my realtor simultaneously. I started renting every property but the house in the Palisades. That transaction brought in more money each month than Christian’s annual salary. I didn’t highlight that fact to him, of course.

My mother loved that I had married a teacher, like her, and that I was living a (more or less) clean but lavish life. She thought everything was perfect. My properties and investments were reeling in money so I wasn’t exactly a housewife but my God it felt like it. Christian would leave every morning and I would have the day to myself. I would swim in the pool and tan beside it. I would go to the beach. I would attend Bible studies, prayer groups, charity blitzes and fundraisers. I would go out to eat alone or with Lilia when she felt brave enough to take a long lunch break. I had been to every restaurant worth going to and many restaurants not worth going to. They were all the same. Every day was the same or at least a derivative of the same.

I loved Christian and being with him was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me but I missed my independence, my ambition, and the constant sense of danger.

I was always waiting for Christian to get home. I felt like I was living my life in wait because he had become my life.