“You don’t want to ask permission? You’ll need money, a car, supplies. You need my help.” I stare at her, challenging her. But she just smiles.

“I don’t need anything from you. I’m all set. Good night.”

“Good night,” I say and wave to the little liar as she makes her way downstairs.

Now I know a couple of things. Betsy has been to David and Kylie’s new house. I wonder if she picked out a bedroom? Probably. She doesn’t realize that if I hadn’t gotten rid of Kylie tonight, Kylie would have cut Betsy out of David’s life as fast as you can say: I’m pregnant!!! They’d start over, with a new baby girl, and Betsy would be as discarded as I am.

I’m doing her a favor, again. And what does she do to repay me? Sneak around with Bo. Preparing for a little camping trip, are we? Ha. She’ll see that won’t be possible. Betsy thinks she is one step ahead of me, the little liar.

Tomorrow is going to be such fun.

34

10:00 p.m.

I’ve opened a bottle of wine, poured a big glass.

I had to be careful with all of the broken pieces of crappy rooster littering the floor. But I managed. The area in front of the refrigerator was barely touched by debris. I have a good aim, strong arms thanks to my clandestine garage workouts.

I sit on the couch in the living room and wait for my husband to come home. It’s a familiar pose, a familiar scene, but tonight is different. My anger has dissolved like sugar boiled in hot water, the rage that has fueled me for the past year is being replaced by another emotion. I believe the feeling is satisfaction, the offshoot of successful revenge. Of course, I can’t be sure, I don’t have any tangible evidence of my vengeance, yet. Kylie’s car is still parked at the Port Street house. And so is my husband’s.

Retribution is coming my way, though, so let me hear a hallelujah. Don’t think of me as spiteful, please. Remember all they’ve done to me. You’d do the same if you were in my shoes.

I open my app. Oh, look, David just left Kylie’s house. He’s still ten minutes away in light traffic. I open my banking app—there is an app for everything these days, am I right? Oh, what’s this? Betsy’s savings account has surged. Is she trafficking drugs? I need to freeze her account. This amount of money gives a person freedom, an escape. Should I go downstairs and confront her? I imagine Betsy washing her face, admiring her expensive graduation outfit, opening her closet and pulling out the maroon cap and gown she’ll wear over her dress. She’s so excited about tomorrow, and the future. The future.