I figured I'd return the favor, but with snacks and supervision. Trent, ever the self-proclaimed peacemaker, stepped forward. Listen, man. Let's not make this hostile. We just want her stuff.
Then let's do this quickly. I said, "There's a pizza place two blocks down that delivers common sense. Maybe stop there on your way home." Greta rolled her eyes. We'll start with the TV.
Reynolds cleared his throat. Ma'am, the TV is on the husband's property inventory. Clarissa pouted. We picked it together. Yeah, I said it best buy with my debit card.
I even remember the day she wanted the one with the voice control because she said she was tired of pressing buttons. Funny how that became a theme in this marriage. Greta muttered, "Wow, petty much petty." I said, "No, Greta. Petty is me labeling her boxes bad decisions volume 1 to three.
That got a snort from Jenkins. Even Reynolds cracked a smile." Clarissa pointed to my grandmother's antique dining set next. "That's mine, too." I held up a receipt.
Bought it at grandma's estate sale with my money. But I helped pick it. She cried. So what? You also picked Trent and I'm not claiming him.
Trent started to say something but stopped when Reynolds gave him a look that said, don't. Then came the real showdown. Clarissa's jewelry box. She lifted it like it was a trophy. These were anniversary gifts, she said triumphantly.
Correct. I said gifts from me to you. Enjoy them. That's called closure. She blinked, confused.
You're letting me keep something? Sure, I said. I'm not cruel. Besides, it's costume jewelry. I wouldn't want the pawn shop laughing at you and your boyfriend, Betty gasped.
Luke Morrison, you are a vile man. Thank you, Betty, I said. I strive for consistency. Then, like a slow motion scene in a bad movie, Trent reached for my flat screen TV. I didn't even say a word, just nodded toward Jenkins.
The cop's voice boomed. Put it down, sir. Trent froze. TV halfway off the wall mount. He looked like a toddler caught stealing cookies.
I was just a helping. Help by breathing less. I said he obeyed instantly setting it back. Clarissa whirled on me. You think you've won, don't you?
Oh, I know I have. I said you're the one moving out of a paid-off house into a borrowed apartment with a guy whose biggest investment is in vape pens. Greta muttered. You'll die alone. I smiled probably, but surrounded by peace, good credit, and no Facebook posts with hashtags.
Betty wiped fake tears. How can you be so cold? She's your wife. Correction, I said. She was my tax deduction.
Big difference. Clarissa's face went red. You'll regret this when I rebuild my life. I raised my cup of coffee. Clarissa, if your life comes with a warranty, please make sure Trent reads the fine print this time.
That's when she cracked full meltdown. She stomped. She cried. She even threw one of her scarves dramatically into the air. It fluttered down onto my porch like the flag of defeat.
Reynold sighed, taking notes. "Ma'am, please calm down." He stole my future. She screamed. I crossed my arms.
I didn't steal it. I just stopped financing it. Trent tried again because apparently he never learns. Look, man, we don't want drama. We just Trent.
I interrupted. You showed up at another man's house with his wife, tried to take his TV, and are currently holding her purse. You are drama. Even Reynolds couldn't suppress a chuckle. After two exhausting hours, they packed what little she could claim, clothes, a few kitchen items, and that jewelry box.
I handed her the final envelope, the official property settlement terms. She ripped it open, read the first line, and gasped. $73,000. That's it. That's it. I said, "You get the cash.
I get my sanity. Fair trade. That won't even cover the surgery," she shouted. "Then consider it a cautionary tale," I said. She glared at me, tears streaming down her face.
"You're a terrible man, Luke Morrison." "Maybe," I said. "But I'm a free one." When the last box hit the backseat of Greta's car, I leaned against the porch railing and exhaled. "Well," I said to Reynolds and Jenkins.
"Gentlemen, I appreciate the crowd control." Reynolds nodded. Seen worse. At least no one threw a shoe. Give it time, I said.
And as if on cue, Betty hurled a heel toward me from the driveway. It missed by a mile, clattering harmlessly against the walkway. Jenkins laughed. You called that. I know my audience, I said.
Finally, the cars rolled away, leaving a trail of exhaust and misplaced confidence. I stood there watching them go. The sun hitting my porch like a spotlight on the last act of a tragedy. I'd already survived. The silence that followed was beautiful.
No yelling, no crying, no speeches about destiny. Just quiet. I went inside, poured myself another cup of coffee, and called Howard. It's done, I said. The queen and her court have vacated.
He chuckled. Any damages? Only emotional ones, I said. And those are covered by bourbon. Good man, he said.
Now enjoy the piece before she finds a new hobby. My bets on blogging about empowerment or suing yoga studios, I said. Wouldn't surprise me. When I hung up, I turned on my reclaimed flat screen. The reflection in the dark glass caught me off guard.
Same guy, just lighter, like someone had peeled off 15 years of passive aggressive guilt. I toasted my reflection with my coffee mug. To peace, I said aloud into the end of the circus. But just as I sat down, my phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number.
You're going to regret treating her like this. She deserves better. I smirked. The area code was local. Probably Trent's mother or another volunteer from Clarissa's victim club.
I typed back. She does deserve better. Too bad she picked Trent. And with that, I blocked the number, silenced the phone, and turned back to my movie. For the first time in years, I watched a film from start to finish without hearing someone complain about the plot, the lighting, or how toxic masculinity ruins cinema.