Chapter 4My Ex Husband Begs For Scraps

After working there for five years, I didn't look back.

I didn't go back to the house.

I went to my cousin Georgia’s place. She ran a small, struggling organic farm on the edge of town. She was cash-poor, but big-hearted.

After I told her everything, she was furious, slapping her hand repeatedly on her thigh.

“That weasel! Alice, you can’t let him get away with this! Come on, I’ll go with you to that fancy Foundation, and we’ll tear his face up!”

I pulled her back: “It won’t work, Georgia. He’s the Councilman’s pet project now. We’ll lose.”

“But… but you can’t let him push you around! That house is yours! Why should he stay?”

“Georgia, I’m done wasting my time on him.”

I took out my life savings—a bank book with the $1,500 I’d secretly squirreled away over the years.

“Georgia, I want to go South.”

She stared at me: “The Coastal Crescent? That far away! You’ll be alone, you don’t know anyone…”

“If I stay here, I won’t survive.”

If I stayed, I would be the woman people whispered about. Spencer and Vanessa would be two mountains crushing me, blocking out the sun.

Seeing my resolve, Georgia stopped arguing. She pressed two hundred dollars and a basket of fresh eggs into my hands.

“Take this. When you get settled, send me a postcard.”

My eyes stung, but I took the money.

I didn't sleep that night. I made a list.

The next day, I put on my oldest clothes, a baseball cap, and went back to my house.

Spencer wasn’t there.

I packed only my essentials with furious speed: a few changes of clothes, the silver locket my mother left me.

Then, I went next door to Mrs. Gina’s house (I localized the name to Mrs. Bell). Mrs. Bell was my kind, nosy, long-time neighbor.

I gave her my remaining pantry staples—canned goods, a bag of dried beans, and the jars of homemade pickles I’d prepared.

“Mrs. Bell, I’m going to stay with my cousin for a while. These things will just spoil. Please use them.”

Mrs. Bell, unsuspecting, happily took them.

“Alice, you’re too good for that Spencer. Never home, always expecting you to wait on him.”

I smiled vaguely, not responding.

Before leaving, I casually mentioned: “Mrs. Bell, all the furniture in my living room was my parents’ inheritance. I’m worried about Spencer’s family coming over and helping themselves to things. Would you… would you keep an eye out? If anything happens, maybe call a few of the boys on the block and help me move it into your garage for safekeeping?”

Mrs. Bell thumped her chest: “Don’t you worry, honey! No one touches your things in this neighborhood!”

I thanked her, grabbed my small duffel bag, and walked away without a backward glance.

Spencer, you wanted your "stars and the sea"?

Well, I just smashed your kitchen.