She missed.
The brown sludge bypassed Sarah entirely, splattering directly across the pristine white silk blouse of a passing court stenographer. Chaos descended. Sarah shoved Lily. Margaret began shrieking for security. The three women collapsed into a flailing, shouting spectacle of suburban madness, fighting over the scraps of a man who was already sprinting toward his car, leaving his new bride weeping on the steps.
Miranda adjusted her designer sunglasses, watching the melee with mild amusement. “I’ve litigated mob divorces with more dignity,” she murmured.
I laughed until my ribs ached.
But as I drove back to the empty, cavernous house, the adrenaline faded. The war was won, the enemy vanquished. Yet, as I stood in my silent foyer, staring at the empty spaces where his belongings used to be, a terrifying emptiness washed over me. I had survived the destruction. Now, I had to figure out how to survive the peace.
Chapter 5: The Architecture of Peace
Within a month, the colonial house was sold.
I couldn’t endure the ghosts. Every time I looked at the rear patio door, I saw Ethan’s panicked face glaring through the glass. The real estate market was fiercely competitive; I accepted an aggressive cash offer that padded my accounts and allowed me to sever my final anchor to the suburbs.
I purchased a condominium in the heart of the city’s downtown district. It was a sanctuary of exposed industrial concrete, floor-to-ceiling glass, and relentless morning sunlight. It was compact, efficient, and entirely mine. I spent the first week sleeping with the balcony doors cracked, letting the chaotic, anonymous symphony of urban traffic lull me to sleep. It was a reminder that the world was still moving, and I was finally moving with it.
News of Ethan’s continued unraveling occasionally drifted to my shores, like debris washing up from a distant shipwreck.
