Page 43 of The Kat Bunglar

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor, muffling her protest.

“You disrespected me. You disrespected ourmarriage.” His voice was flat. Final. “I want you and your things gone by this afternoon.”

Laila surged to her feet, leaning toward him. ““This is our home, Jay,” she said, voice shaking.

He tilted his head, a tight smile stretching across his face.

“In my name,” he corrected. “And I want you out.”

He gave her one final look of contempt before grabbing his laptop bag and leaving.

Laila sank back into her chair, stunned. Her marriage was over.

She hadfailed.

Her mind buzzed with static as she moved around the apartment, packing her things. Legally, she could stay. And maybe she should—just to see how far he would go to get rid of her. But as she looked around at the ransacked closet, the half-open drawers, the broken fragments of the life they had built together, she no longer wanted to.

Not only had she been robbed here, but she had also witnessed the death of her marriage here.

Divorced.

The word reverberated in her skull. She was going to be a divorcee.

She probably needed a support group. She should get friends. Other divorced women friends. What did divorced women do together? She hoped they didn’t drink wine. She hated wine.

Her gaze drifted to her vanity table.

Where was her mother’s ring?

Panic surged through her as she pulled open drawers, shuffled ring boxes, searched frantically.

Where was her mother’s ring?

She had left it behind when she went to L.A. She had set it down for just a second. She had planned to put it back on when she returned.

She had planned to fix everything when she returned. But it was too late now. The burglars had taken it. Her chest tightened. They had no idea what they had done. They had ruined her life. Laila sat on the edge of the bed and broke down, sobbing.

She had no family.

No friends.

And now, no husband.

Where would she go? What should she do? She slid to the floor, curling into herself. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, but when the distant sound of the Metra train horn signaled the afternoon rush, she knew it was time to leave.

She threw cold water on her face and stared at her reflection. Her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin mocked her. She grabbed her favorite Ajara Eye Cream, something she had discovered onKat_Kares’ YouTube channel, and applied it with shaking fingers.

Then she pulled on a battered trench coat, yanked a baseball cap low over her eyes, and walked away from the penthouse she never wanted to live in.

Taking the elevator down, it stopped on the third floor. Her heart stuttered - she hadn’t seenhimsince the paramedics had taken him away. Neither had she called or texted. When the elevator doors opened, it was only Mrs. Heeley. Laila released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Oh, hello dear, another trip?” Mrs. Heeley asked, her hair still in curlers. “Awful news about that break-in. You wonder what the world is coming to when you can’t even feel safe in your own home. Glad you and your mister are alright, though.”

Laila nodded, not trusting her voice.

“You know, I was quite the jet setter back in my day,” Mrs. Heeley continued cheerfully. “I once caught Burt Reynolds’ eye in first class. We were on Pan Am flying from New York to Seattle, and he gave me that famous smirk of his. Well, I almost had a mind to—”

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, cutting her off. “Oh well. You must come by for tea sometime, dear. We haven’t caught up in ages.” Mrs. Heeley gave her arm a sweet pat as Laila’s eyes threatened to fill with tears.

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