TRISHA
I walked back toward my bedroom with an easy, satisfied stride, the corners of my mouth pulled into a grin that refused to fade. My pulse still thrummed with the leftover rush of what had just happened downstairs. The image of Lila standing there while her belongings spilled across the floor replayed itself again and again in my mind, each replay just as satisfying as the first.
The moment had been perfect.
I could still hear the sharp crack of the picture frame striking the hardwood floor. The sound had cut cleanly through the room, followed by the softer thuds of shoes and clothes scattering in every direction. The best part, however, had been the small, strangled sound Lila made when she saw the photograph slide across the floor. That desperate lunge she made to grab it had be
