Chapter 3: The Replacement
313 words
The silence of the dead house was broken by the crunch of gravel outside. Through the window, I saw a cherry-red convertible pull into the driveway—the same car Richard claimed he’d leased for 'client retention.'
The passenger door swung open. A young woman struggled out, her belly swollen with pregnancy, wrapped in a leopard-print maxi dress that clashed violently with the suburban lawn. Tiffany.
"Baby!" Richard’s voice shifted from venom to syrup instantly. He rushed past me, nearly knocking me into the counter, to greet her.
I stood frozen in the dark kitchen. This was the 'vitality' he spoke of? A twenty-four-year-old girl dripping in tacky gold jewelry?
Tiffany waddled to the threshold, chewing gum loudly. She looked me up and down, her lip curling. "Richie, why is the help still here? The vibes are totally off."
"She's just leaving, Tiff-babe," Richard cooed. He turned to me, his face hardening into steel. "Grab her bags. She shouldn't be lifting anything in her condition."
My jaw dropped. "You want me to carry your mistress's luggage?"
"It's the least you can do for the rent you owe me," he snapped. "And move your boxes to the garage. Tiffany needs the master suite immediately. The damp air out there will be good for your... complexion."
Humiliated, I dragged my few possessions toward the garage door, the cardboard scraping against the floor. As I passed the living room, Tiffany was already rearranging the mantle.
She picked up the silver-framed photo of my father—the only one I had left from his final days in the hospital.
"Ugh, depressing," she muttered.
With a flick of her wrist, she 'accidentally' let it slip. The frame hit the hardwood. The glass shattered with a sound like a gunshot, splintering across the face of the man who had loved me most.
End of Chapter 3
