Jack never took sick days—not even when his mother died—so when he stayed home sick one morning, it was strange. But things got even stranger when I opened the front door and saw a life-sized statue of Jack on our porch, white as porcelain and uncannily accurate. Jack, pale and shaken, dragged it inside without explanation. Later, our son Noah handed me a note found under the statue. It was from a woman named Sally:
“I’m returning the statue I made while believing you loved me. You owe me $10,000… or your wife sees every message.”
I dropped the kids off, cried in a parking lot, and called the first female divorce attorney I could find. At her office, I showed her the note. “This woman sculpted my husband. And now she’s blackmailing him.”
