Diane signed the last of the paperwork, handing it to her lawyer. “That’s the last of it, Diane. You’re now free from him.”
Free from him, her former husband. All the work, the years, the time, gone, burned to the ground. He’d started an affair with that 30-year-old whore, who was still young enough to be pretty, without the baggage of a family, or the age 27 years of marriage puts on you.
Now, he had his whore. And she had a house full of memories to destroy. It would have been easy to sell the house, move somewhere and start over. But it was her house. She’d picked it. She’d picked the furniture, painted the walls, planted the flower beds, cooked in her kitchen, done the laundry in her utility room, and parked in her garage.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she couldn’t live in it any more.
The first thing to do was get rid of the bed. The bed reminded her of the nights he’d slept with her. All the nights she’d let him explore her body. She called over her girlfriends. They helped her disassemble the thing, haul it downstairs, and out to the curb.
Good riddance, she thought. She’d hated what he’d become. What he’d done to her. “I hope you burn in hell!” she’d screamed at him when she found out about the 30-year-old bitch.
All he’d said in response was, “I’ll see you there, darling.”
249 Words (Per MS Word 2010)
I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 78. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.