Phoenix Heat, A Wife's Cold Vengeance

ette

om. I heard the rustle of clothes,

irt and perfectly pressed navy blue trousers. His leather belt gleamed, its silver buckle

completely

man who knew no f

muscle in my body protested. My head sw

st the frame. The Arizona sun beat down, turni

tche

e bus stop, which was a few blocks to the left. Instead, he turned r

blic taxi. It was a luxury ride-share, the kind I kne

d cup with a straw. It was an iced coffee, probably from that a

avor

uy me yesterday, saying it

s, Juliette," he had lectured, waving his

words, the stin

his expensive cold drink, heading for a "job

s tinted windows quickl

rt the distant buildings. My head spun more violently now. A cold swea

given me was still clutched

oranges and purples, but offering no relief from the heat. Th

ly returned af

It was the scent of air conditioning, of a comfortably cool environment. It c

rance, not mine, waf

greasy p

ing the bag into my hands. "Got this on sale

thering to put them away, and h

discounted fast-food meal, a bur

ell hit me. The food had

ught me ro

ed burger, then at th

just cruel-he was

ould no

ent with Celeste Okonkwo-the most feared divorce attorney in Phoenix, and the woman who had once sued Ke