When she dropped the granite statue into the middle of the
glass table, it shattered with a boom, making her smile; she’d always wanted to
do that ever since she’d laid eyes on the damn thing.
He’d loved it more than her, always polishing it, nagging
her every time she wanted to put a drink on it, using it as a tool to compare
her imperfections to - even holding her face against it. She wondered how he’d
love it now.
She relished the crunching sound as she walked across the floor
to the door, grinding her heels hard into it, making sure it left marks on the
tiled floor, although none of them would be as deep as the marks he’d left on
her – and not just those he’d made with his fists.
She grabbed her case and went to the front door, wishing she
could be a fly on the wall when he got home.
