It was a little after 6:30 AM when I stopped my car in front of my ex-husband Nate’s house in Lake Forest, north of the city. I hadn’t accounted for the switch from Eastern to Central time as I crossed into Illinois and I doubted anyone was even up. I thought about just waiting in my car until a more reasonable visitation hour, but Lake Forest cops were quite a vigilant bunch because they were very paid well to be. If caught, they wouldn’t take kindly to me staking out a house in one of their upscale neighborhoods.
I swung into Nate’s driveway and steeled myself to either do a lot of explaining or, if I couldn’t rouse anybody, to hide out on his front porch for a while, if I had to.
I was half way up the walk on my crutches when the front door swung open and Nate himself stepped out into
