28
Abigail fought down the bile rising in her throat as she climbed out of the taxi. Paul’s front lawn looked like the remains of a co-ed party that had gotten way, way out of hand.
Blouses and pants cluttered the yard like large, abnormally shaped flowers. Bright red underwear fluttered from the limbs of a tree as stately as a flag in the wind.
Are those my panties?
Abigail snatched the offending drawers from the branch and stuffed it into her purse. Her gaze skimmed the yard, landing on her favorite green dress which had been ripped to shreds and now hung forlornly over the porch railing.
These weren’t just any old clothes. They were hers.
Fury built up in her chest and reddened her skin. Paul had mistreated and bullied her for most of their relationship and she had taken it, afrai
