Chapter 6 - PACKING THE RIGHT BAGS
The deputies escorted Christopher down the driveway and placed him in the back of the patrol car, where he sat staring blankly through the wire mesh partition. Florence was given exactly thirty minutes by the court bailiff to pack a single suitcase of absolute personal necessities before being permanently locked out of the premises.
I stood in the master bedroom—the very room where Florence had humiliated me just days earlier by dumping my clothes across the mattress.
Florence stood by the closet, her hands shaking violently as she threw a few sweaters and toiletries into a cheap canvas duffel bag. The proud, untouchable matriarch who had terrorized me for two years was gone, replaced by a bitter, defeated old woman realizing she had finally pushed her luck too far.
She zipped the bag with a vicious yank and turned to glare at me one last time.
“You think you’ve won something, don't you?” Florence spat, her voice venomous. “You think a man like Christopher will ever truly love a cold, calculating witch like you? You’ll always be alone.”
I walked over to the bedroom door, leaning against the frame with a calm, unbothered smile.
“I was never alone, Florence,” I replied softly. “I just spent two years wasting my love on parasites. But don't worry—you won't have to worry about my suitcase ever again. Because starting today, I am changing every lock on this house.”
May you like
Florence snarled, hefting her cheap duffel bag over her shoulder, and stormed past me down the stairs, out the front door, and off the property for the very last time.
When the heavy front door clicked shut behind her, the silence that filled the house didn't feel oppressive or heavy. For the first time since I had married Christopher, the air in the house felt entirely clean.
