The concealer had dried slightly around the cap.
The powder remained almost untouched.
I remembered Adrian’s voice.
Cover that up and smile.
I zipped the case.
Then drove to Rebecca’s office.
She later arranged for it to remain with the evidence file.
Not because anyone needed the cosmetics.
Because I did.
I needed one ordinary object to preserve the insanity of that morning.
A gift that was not an apology.
A luxury product purchased to hide violence.
The entire marriage, reduced to cream leather and gold hardware.
I moved to a smaller house outside Boston.
Smaller kitchen.
Smaller staircase.
No gates.
The first night there, I slept on a mattress on the floor because my furniture had not arrived.
Rain tapped against the windows.
At two in the morning, I woke suddenly.
For several seconds I did not know where I was.
Then I remembered.
Mine.
The room was mine.
