I married a man in prison for money. Three years later his conviction was overturned — and eight days after he came home he put a black box on the kitchen table and said, “Now it’s my turn.”

And Avram never once asked me why I was doing it.

He never asked. Not in three years. I thought at the time that it was because he did not want to make me say it out loud.

By then I was in love with him, and that was no longer a performance either.

In the September of last year it came apart.

His cousin Lazar Loewe had moved the money. Four hundred and eleven thousand dollars out of the Marrowfield Trust across nineteen months.

He had copied his own cousin’s signature to do it — badly, as it turns out, and on four documents.

And then he sat in a courtroom in the November of 2021 and watched that man get twelve years.

Avram Loewe walked out of Fennimore on the eleventh of September. Four years and one month in.

And here is the thing I did not expect.

I thought he would come straight at me. I had it in my head how it was going to go, in a car park, in front of about eleven people with cameras.