Revenge in stilettos
ring midair, the divorce papers clutched tightly in my hand. Mark
rally silent. Cold. J
led laughter from inside. Lila's voice. She's in there again. Of course
ever was in th
myself a
s voice calls, l
the arm of Mark's leather chair, her fingers tangled in his hair like she owns h
prised to see me. He doesn't even move
I say evenly, hol
I'll give you two lovebirds some space," she says s
Mark has a meeting soon. You know that right?" She
he air like a slap. I used to wear that scent. I swear. Befo
his temples. "What
o
or years to salvage what we had. Give him peace and help him with bui
s on his desk. "I
. For once, he
y?" he asks, disbelief s
es
't be ridiculous. You're just up
ws I tried to be enough for you, for our son. B
make this about Lila. She's been g
s mother. And you let him ask me why I can't be more like her. You let him belie
appy. Lila makes him smile. When
th opens, but no sound comes out
I'll pack the rest of my things this weekend.
your son. More importantly, I owe you nothing
You already taught my son how to abh
h opens,
it for his
d on the living room floor when I step into the hous
at says he tolerates me.
my?" he asks, his eyes flicki
g a curl behind his ear. "But I want you to k
brow furrowing in irritation. "Is Aunt Lila
lowing. "But I needed t
n you talk? Aunt Lila says grownups shouldn't be sad all the tim
t meant to hurt. But they
o make you sad." I swallow the tea
ike Aunt Lila better. She gives me candy even
lawing its way up. "I
racted. "Will she ta
cheek. "But you'll always be m
t he's already turn
ing to cave me in. My son doesn't cling
smirking. She's changed into a silk r
ttle harder," she says, leaning against the
Take care of him. He deserves some
er hair. "Oh, honey. I
n it. "Enjoy the prize. Or maybe
lters for a
g behind me with a finality
he place is small, barely furnished. A hand-me-down
oor. My legs give out beneath me lik
ike Mark's house. This silence holds spac
en holding them in for far too long. For Caleb. For appearances
ouched in years. Not since I gave up my
. Familiar icons greet me l
he dark screen. Tired. Worn. But som
so
hen, I begin to type. I don't know what I'm writing. But
I'm done
bre
ime, I