“Right now, my business is removing you from the premises,” the officer said, his hand resting casually on the butt of his holster. “You can walk out peacefully, or I can cuff both of you for trespassing. Your choice.”
The fight seemed to drain out of them in an instant, replaced by a dawning, mortifying humiliation. Neighbors were starting to creep out onto their porches, phones held up to discreetly film the drama.
They were escorted down the front steps and onto the street, walking right past my suitcases, which were still lying broken on the grass. Linda was still in the towel, trying to cover herself as she scurried past the flashing police lights. Mark walked with his head down, refusing to look at anyone.
He stopped at the curb and turned back to look at me. His eyes were wild with hatred.
“You’ll regret this, Elena!” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. “I’ll take half this house in the divorce! You’ll see!”
I didn’t say a word. I smiled, a small, tight smile of victory, and slowly held up my left hand. I waggled my ring finger.
It was empty. I had slipped the diamond off and put it in my pocket while they were screaming.
The look of confusion, followed by sheer terror, on his face was the most satisfying thing I had ever seen.
Chapter 5: The Property Lesson
Three days later, the house was silent. Gloriously, beautifully silent. A locksmith had come and gone, replacing every lock with a high-tech biometric system that only recognized my fingerprint. My suitcases were unpacked, my clothes hanging neatly in the cedar closet. The lingering scent of Linda’s perfume had been banished by an open window and a sea breeze. I was sitting in a new armchair I’d had delivered, sipping a glass of crisp, cold Sauvignon Blanc, and watching the waves crash onto the shore.
My phone rang. It was Mark. I had forgotten to block his number. I let the call go to voicemail, curious to hear the texture of his defeat.
The message came a minute later. He wasn’t screaming anymore. He was crying. It was a pathetic, sniveling sound.
“Elena… please pick up,” he whimpered. “We’re at a motel off the highway. Mom’s back hurts because the bed is too hard. She can’t sleep. Please, just… just let us come back. I promise, I’ll let Mom sleep in… in the living room. I’ll sleep on the couch. We’ll do whatever you say.”
I laughed out loud, the sound startling me in the quiet house. I took another sip of wine. He still didn’t get it. He thought this was a negotiation about sleeping arrangements. He thought this was a tantrum I would eventually get over.
I called him back. He picked up on the first ring.
“Elena!” he gasped, a desperate hope in his voice.
