I dragged them out like I was pulling leverage out of the past.
Then I went upstairs to Lydia’s bedroom.
It was pristine.
Color-coordinated designer clothes.
Expensive skincare.
Jewelry laid out like a museum exhibit.
The kind of setup that screams, “I am the priority here.”
I started packing.
Not her basics.
Not necessities.
Her luxuries.
- Designer handbags
- Perfumes
- Jewelry
- Silk pajamas
- All the little “treat yourself” items she treated as sacred
I packed neatly on purpose.
Organized consequences land harder.
When the suitcases were full, I locked them with combinations only I knew.
I lined them up in the living room like they were waiting for inspection.
Then I wrote a note and placed it where she couldn’t miss it:
“To reclaim your treasures, report to Karma.”
And I sat on the couch and waited.
Because the next part required Lydia to walk into the reality she’d been avoiding.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
