Her phone stopped ringing. Her respect evaporated like water on hot pavement.
She wasn’t arrested. She was erased.
That was my design.
Sarah, my wife, wept when she saw the evidence. She wept for her daughter, and she wept for the mother she realized she never really knew. But she stood with me. She signed the papers. She cut the cord.
Weeks later, Margaret tried to speak to me.
I was at the grocery store, in the produce aisle. She looked smaller. Thinner. Quieter. The queen had lost her crown.
She approached me tentatively, her hands shaking.
“David,” she whispered. “I… I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
I stopped selecting apples. I turned and looked at her. I didn’t see a monster anymore. I saw a pathetic, lonely old woman who had built a castle on a foundation of cruelty.
I looked right through her.
“I know,” I said. “You meant to break her.”
Cliffhanger: She reached out to touch my arm, pleading. “Please, David. I’m alone. Everyone has left me.” I leaned in close, so only she could hear.
“Good,” I whispered. “Now you know how she felt in that trash bag.”
Chapter 4: The Aftermath
I walked away from her in the aisle, leaving her standing next to the displays of vibrant fruit, a grey smudge in a colorful world.
I never saw her again.
She sold the house six months later. Moved to a different state, somewhere deep in the Midwest where no one knew her name. But names travel. Stories travel. And I knew, deep down, she carried her prison with her.
My daughter is ten now.
She wears dresses she chooses—bright yellows, polka dots, stripes. She eats when she’s hungry, and she eats with joy. She laughs loudly, a belly laugh that shakes the windows.
continued on next page
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
