Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“They are looking at the furniture,” I said.
Martha stepped up onto the porch, setting the warm pie on the wooden bench behind us. She reached out and touched my shoulder, her fingers warm through my coat.
“This is your husband’s house, Cassandra,” Martha said, her face tightening. “They cannot just push you out onto the porch like an old piece of wicker while they count the chairs.”
“It is a complicated process,” I said, looking down at my shoes and rubbing my ring.
“It is not complicated, it is wicked,” Martha said, her voice shaking slightly. “Sable has no right to treat you this way, and Nathan should be ashamed of himself.”
“Nathan is doing the best he can,” I said, though the words felt hollow in my mouth.
“You let me know if you need to stay in my spare room,” Martha said, her eyes searching mine. “I mean it, Cassandra. I have the bed made up.”
“Thank you, Martha,” I said, looking toward the iron gates at the edge of the property. “I might need to take you up on that soon.”
