glass.
He had expected screaming.
Maybe crying.
Maybe desperate bargaining that would prove how powerful he was.
Instead, I went upstairs and gathered what they had missed.
My passport.
Two framed photographs of my late grandmother.
A hard drive containing years of design work.
And a chipped blue ceramic mug.
Chloe followed me halfway upstairs.
“You’re seriously not going to fight about this?”
I looked at her.
“What exactly would you like me to fight for?”
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
I packed the rest without speaking.
Outside, cold rain
