Three messages waited for me.
One from my lawyer.
One from my accountant.
One from the private investigator I had hired six weeks earlier.
I opened the last message first.
Subject: Final evidence package complete.
I smiled through my split lip.
Adrian had finally given me the one thing my case still needed.
Proof that he believed I was powerless.
At six the next morning, he walked in carrying a designer makeup bag.
“My mother’s coming for lunch,” he said. “Cover all that up and smile.”
I took the bag from his hand.
And smiled….
Part 2
Marjorie arrived at noon dressed in pearls and triumph.
She walked into my home without knocking, kissed Adrian on the cheek, and looked me over like a piece of furniture she intended to replace.
“Well,” she said, her eyes lingering on my carefully concealed bruises. “You look exhausted.”
Adrian’s lips twitched.
I carried lunch to the table. Roasted chicken. Lemon potatoes. Her favorite wine. The act needed to be flawless.
Marjorie sat at the head of the table.
My chair.
“Adrian says you’ve finally come to your senses,” she said.
I poured wine into her glass. “Did he?”
“He told me you were emotional last night.” She smiled. “Young wives usually are. But marriage requires discipline.”
Adrian leaned back in his chair, smug and comfortable. He believed the bruises were hidden. He believed the house belonged to him. He believed the woman serving lunch to his mother had been broken.
“You’ll empty the guest room tomorrow,” Marjorie continued. “I’ll move my things in this weekend.”
I set the wine bottle down gently. “Of course.”
