There was no sound. There was no air in the room. There was only the harsh, sickening reality of what I was witnessing, freezing the blood in my veins.
I stood in the doorway of my mother’s bedroom, my hand resting against the doorframe just to keep myself upright.
My mother, the woman who had scrubbed floors until her knuckles bled so I could have school clothes, was on her hands and knees.
She was crying silently, her frail shoulders shaking as she desperately shoved her few worldly possessions into a cheap, black plastic trash bag.
Standing above her was Chloe.
My wife. The woman I had vowed to protect, cherish, and build a life with.
Chloe was still practically vibrating with rage, her arms crossed tight over the expensive silk I had bought her. Her face was twisted into a sneer I had never seen before. It was a face of pure, unadulterated cruelty.
Then, Chloe turned her head.
Our eyes locked.
I watched the color drain from her perfectly manicured face in an instant. The vicious, arrogant sneer melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated terror.
