He And His Mistress Died Together

[No wonder her husband is looking for someone else. I’d cheat too.]

Before I could recover, the hotel room door was slammed shut. Laurel and several disheveled women blocked the doorway, waving a divorce agreement. “Jessica! Sign it! Leave the house! Don’t force us!”

The agreement stated that I voluntarily gave up all my property and had to pay Godfrey 139,000 dollars in “mental damages.”

I slapped the agreement aside. “Impossible.”

“If you don’t accept my offer, you’ll have to pay me back!” Laurel gestured and the women immediately pounced.

Nails dug into my arms, rough hands yanked my hair and slammed me against the wall, ripping my shirt and revealing bruises on my shoulders.

In the chaos, someone snatched the urn I was holding in my arms—that was Anastasia’s final resting place.

“Let go! That’s Anastasia!” I frantically tried to grab it, but was held down firmly.

Laurel, who held the urn, stood by the window and sneered, “Sign or not? If not, I’ll scatter this money-loser’s ashes and let her bones scatter!”

“She’s your granddaughter!” My tears fell to the ground, my voice trembling.

“So what if she’s my granddaughter?” she spat. “She’s not a boy, it’s better for her to die! My son can marry another and still have a big, fat boy!”

Footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor. Cassandra, holding Godfrey’s arm, leaned against the door frame as if watching a monkey show.

Godfrey kicked the scraps of paper on the floor. “Sign it! I’ll give you 13,000 dollars, enough for a fresh start.”

I stared at him, blood welling in my eyes. “Get out.”

“Okay, okay!” Laurel flung open the window and let in a bone-aching autumn breeze.

She raised her hand!

“No!”

I watched helplessly as the small box plummeted out the window like a leaf torn by the wind.

My throat felt like a hot iron was being stuffed in it. I couldn’t make a sound, only tears streaming down my face, bitter and astringent.

Sirens blared from afar and red and blue lights flickered in the corridor. The police rushed in, saw the mess on the floor, frowned and asked, “What happened?”

I slowly climbed to my feet and straightened my torn shirt, my knuckles white from the effort.

My gaze swept across Laurel’s panicked face, Cassandra’s evasive gaze, Godfrey’s forced composure and finally settled on the police.

The voice was quiet, but every word was clear. “I’m calling the police for intentional injury, extortion, insult and defamation and…” I paused, looking out the window at the gray sky, “deliberate destruction of ashes. No one here will escape!”