Chapter 5 - Thrown Out
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Luke’s silence was deafening. He looked away, taking a long, slow sip of his beer, unable to meet my furious gaze. That pathetic silence answered the question far better than any lie he could have spun. He had known. He had probably helped them plan it.
I reached behind my back, untied the strings of my stained apron, and pulled it over my head. I threw it onto the dining table, the fabric landing right on top of Chloe’s dirty plate.
"I’m not washing a single dish tonight," I stated, my voice shaking with a dangerous kind of clarity. "And nobody is taking my apartment."
Brenda’s eyes bulged. She pointed a shaking finger toward the heavy oak front door.
"Then get out!" Brenda screamed, completely dropping her sophisticated hostess act. "If you are going to disrespect this family in my house, you can leave tonight!"
"Gladly," I shot back.
I marched toward the staircase to grab my overnight bag, but Brenda was faster. She practically sprinted up the stairs ahead of me. By the time I reached the landing, she was already violently pulling my clothes out of the guest room closet.
"Get out! Get out!" she shrieked, hurling my expensive blouses and skirts over the banister.
They rained down into the foyer. I stood frozen in shock as she grabbed my heavy, glass perfume bottle and chucked it blindly. It hit the wooden stairs, shattering into a hundred pieces and flooding the hallway with the sharp scent of jasmine.
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Next came a framed photograph from our wedding day. It tumbled down the steps, the glass smashing violently right across Luke’s smiling face.
I looked down into the living room. Eleven people were watching this chaotic spectacle. And Luke—my husband, my supposed protector—just stood there, hands in his pockets, doing absolutely nothing to stop his mother's rampage.
