During their marriage, she had thought Richard7 was a great debater, a man with intellect. Myla shook her head. Had she really ever been that naive? She ran her hand over the top of the dresser. She should have taken this with her. But she had not taken much—only her clothes, gardening tools, books, and a few pots, pans, dishes.
She walked to the bed, put her hand on the mattress, and then gingerly sat on it, bouncing slightly. She lay back and looked at the ceiling. It was comfortable. They must have gotten a new mattress. She closed her eyes.
A toilet flushed.
Myla sat up quickly, her eyes wide.
Someone was in the master bathroom. Right behind her.
She jumped up and ran out of the room.
“Is someone there?” A woman’s voice.
Myla ran through the living room and into the kitchen. The
