Page 284 of Invisible Bars
“What are you doing?! Don’t touch me! I am Mrs. Kors!” I protested, my heart racing.
“Youwere, ma’am,” the shorter guy reminded me.
My chest heaved as I futilely tried to wriggle free, but they were already guiding me toward the front door, the final threshold of my home.
When I stepped out, the oppressive July heat hit my face like a harsh slap. The sun blazed down, blurring my vision and making me squint against the bright rays. And just like that, Iwas being marched out of my own damn home that I’d helped build with love, sweat, and sacrifice.
I held my head high, a facade of dignity masking the turmoil within. But inside, I was cracking. I fought back the urge to cry.
Not yet.
“I need my purse!” I demanded, my voice echoing as they roughly escorted me off the premises, my heels clicking unevenly against the ground, each sound a reminder of my crumbling world.
“Get her purse,” the eldest officer muttered to the other, annoyance creeping into his voice.
“It’s in my room, on the velvet ottoman!” I snapped, my temper flaring. “And don’t you dare steal anything!”
The younger officer scoffed but turned back toward the house, leaving me seething with a blend of anger and desperation.
I stood there at the edge of the gated entrance with the other officer, arms crossed tightly, the cuffs digging into my skin.
As minutes dragged on unbearably, cars passed by, indifferent to my plight. Neighbors peeked from behind their curtains, some pretending not to look, others allowing themselves to smirk at my humiliation. Somewhere behind me, a bird chirped merrily, blissfully unaware that my entire life had just unraveled. Finally, the officer returned, holding my purse with a lack of reverence as if it were nothing more than a sack of groceries instead of my limited-edition Chanel.
“You’re free to go,” the officer announced, removing the cuffs with a brisk motion, then handed my purse. “But you are never to return here. Do you understand?”
I rubbed my wrists, my emotions swirling.
He didn’t wait for my response. They turned their backs on me and walked back toward the house and closed the gate.
Although I didn’t cry, I felt numb. I stood there, surrounded by the lavish luxury of a home that was no longer mine, with the oppressive silence of my consequences. I had nowhere to go.That girl had wormed her way into my son’s heart and poisoned him against me. Her tics, her sob story, her perfect yet chaotic appearance made it all the easier for him to turn on me, and my thoughts screamed in protest.
This can’t be happening. I was the one in control. I made the sacrifices. I shaped Imanio into who he is. I carried Robert through his darkest years. I held this family together. I don’t deserve this. I don’t.
But maybe…maybeI went too far.Maybe I forgot what genuine love looked like. Maybe I confused control for care. Maybe I thought that silence would last forever if I just talked loud enough. Maybe it took losing everything to truly see what I had. I was no longer Giselle Kors… just Giselle—a woman holding an empty purse, facing frozen bank accounts and a name that wouldn’t open doors anymore.
My phone buzzed insistently in my palm, disrupting my spiraling thoughts. I glanced at the screen, frowning as I read the notification. The purse I tried to order? Out of stock.
Can this day get any worse?
Chapter Forty-Nine
NAJI
Iwas sitting quietly on the mat doing Pilates, in the middle of the living room, when I heard an unusual noise at the door.
It wasn’t the familiar sound of a simple knock or the delivery guy with that faint two-tap shuffle I’d come to recognize—that was something altogether different.
I froze mid-stretch, one leg awkwardly in the air like a ballet flamingo with trust issues.
My tics started fluttering before I could stop them.
“Knock-knock! Who the f—who the flowers is it?” I whispered, my shoulders twitching.
Lo and behold, Imanio walked in, both arms heavily burdened by an array of shopping bags. Those weren’t just any bags; they were luxurious, with thick, sturdy handles and unmistakable branded logos emblazoned across them.
As he shuffled through the door, I caught a glimpse of a moving truck parked outside through the living room window, its presence adding an air of urgency to the moment. Imanio kicked the door shut behind him with his heel and dropped the bags onto the couch with a muffled thud. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, as if he had just climbed ten flights of stairs.
“What is all that?” I asked gently, my voice laced with disbelief.
