Chapter 9 - THE GIANT FRIDGE DEPARTS
By Sunday afternoon, the house was entirely empty of their presence.
The minimalist staging furniture was gone, hauled away by the rental company. The designer athleisure wear was packed into the back of the BMW.
And the massive, multi-thousand-dollar stainless-steel refrigerator?
Well, moving a restaurant-grade double-door fridge down a flight of front steps requires professional muscle. Two burly movers in blue overalls had arrived at noon, grunting and sweating as they wrestled the metallic monster out the front door and loaded it onto the back of a flatbed truck.
Thalia stood by the curb, watching her prized possession get hauled away like a piece of salvaged junk. She looked smaller, defeated, stripped of the glossy corporate armor she had worn since the day she moved in.
She turned and looked up at me standing on the front porch.
“You’re a cold, bitter old woman, Estelle,” she spat out, her voice trembling with impotent rage. “You’ll die alone in this empty house.”
“Maybe,” I said calmly, resting my hands on the porch railing. “But at least I’ll die knowing every square inch of it belongs to me.”
Desmond didn't look at me at all. He slid into the driver’s seat of the BMW, slammed the door, and didn't look back as they pulled away from the curb, turning down the corner and out of my life for good.
I watched the brake lights fade into the afternoon distance, listening to the sudden, profound silence settling over the neighborhood.
No low hum of a second refrigerator.
May you like
No shouting matches in the hallway.
Just the gentle rustle of the oak tree in the front yard and the familiar scent of my lavender air freshener drifting through the open front door.
