The music was deafening. The alcohol made everything numb. Perfect.
I kept this up for three days before something clicked.
I needed a divorce.
Dragging it out was pointless. Better to cut things off while Lucy was still overseas, before I got tangled up in all that ugliness again.
I drove straight to Matriarch Farley's lakeside estate.
The car rolled down a long, tree-lined drive and stopped at the front entrance of the main house.
The housekeeper spotted me and dipped his head respectfully. "Miss Henson, the Matriarch is in the conservatory."
I walked into the greenhouse. Bertha Farley stood among her prized blue roses, pruning shears in hand, tending to them with the care of a woman who controlled everything she touched.
She looked up when she saw me, a warm smile settling across her face. "Rose, dear. Sylvester didn't come with you?"
I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Matriarch Farley, I want a divorce from Sylvester."
Snip.
A single rose tumbled to the floor.
The conservatory went deathly quiet.
Matriarch Farley slowly set down her pruning shears and turned to face me, a flicker of puzzlement crossing her features.
"Why? What has Sylvester done wrong?"
"Nothing."
I told her the truth.