KATHERINE Womack, bestselling author

My long commute from the Detective's office, gives me time to rationalize how I’ll approach my husband.  Divorce is inevitable; I will never trust him again.  He’s not the man I’d married.  I’m desperately trying to conciliate my anger, assuring myself that I can discuss it calmly; we will reach an amicable, logical, systematic resolution. 

 

Damn! Traffic!

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I’ve entered our home, power-walking to our bedroom suite, overhearing D’Ron and a slew of others, watching television and listening to rap in the game room.  Unbeknownst to him, while the investigation was underway, I got a new cell phone, bank account and credit cards in my name.

 

Casting an evil eye, towards the bed we'd shared,  I grab a complete set of luggage, impetuously fill each bag to capacity and deliver them to my car. 

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Gabrielle spots me re-entering our bedroom, stopping me in my tracks.

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“Good Evening, Mrs. Tyler!  May I help you with something?”

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May she help me with something? I can think of several; for starters, she can explain why she'd deceived me, to cheat with my husband. 

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“Why are you still here? Your shift ended hours ago.” 

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“I had some last minute tasks I'd needed to complete.”

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“Really?”  

 

I'm bemused.

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“Sure! You can help me.  One moment, please.  I’ll be right back.”

 

Grabbing my bubblegum pink, Berretta BU9 Nano, I'm proceeding to smash everything in sight—mirrors, vases and picture frames.

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“You want to clean my house, bitch? Clean this…this…and this.” 

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I’m shooting, maniacally, blathering in between.

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“I gave up everything for him…our marriage....his career.” 

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I’m transgressed, running from floor to floor, up and down the spiraled staircase, demolishing beveled glass doors, crystal lamps, fine china, walls and cabinetry.

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D’Ron and his entourage are hearing the commotion; Gabrielle runs for cover.

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“Ellyse—stop!” He pleads.  

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I comply.

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“Why are you doing this?” 

 

Everyone stares fixedly at me, with their hands raised, as they were told "Freeze". 

They're afraid to move.

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“Why?  Because none of it meant what you did to me.  If she wants to clean-up after me—let her clean it all…..your finances, this home and manage your career.  It’s over between us.  You’ll be hearing from my attorney.”

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I pull the 2 old cell phones from the pockets of my jeans, tossing them, with the keys to our home, on the porcelain floor, stepping over the vandalism, leaving the residence indefinitely.