A Birkin For Every Lie

Hermès Birkins sitting

llions. To me, it' s a tally of ninety-ni

logy I accepted to keep o

rayal wasn't fixed wi

r's death, I tracked Harris to

here, standing over the empty plot reserved for m

e diggin

containing her dead cat and a plaque t

Cecily," she laughe

won't mind the company. Besides, it

s and the lies. But desecrati

e wife died i

evidence that would destroy Jessica'

anded, my voice col

ury you both

pte

McNei

a quiet apology for a wound too deep for any price tag. But all I felt was the familiar hollow ache, a cavern in my chest where emotion used to be. My fingers traced the c

ile, usually a weapon, fell flat in the heavy air of my silence. He wore the expensive suit of a man who owned hal

hed the surface of the quiet rage simmering beneath my skin. He glanced at the ba

We both did. This was his currency, his way of saying, "I messed up again. Here's a dist

sh carpet. "You look pale. Didn't you sleep?" His brow furrowed, a pra

mach churned, a constant knot of nausea that had become my unwelcome companion. It wasn't just the lack of sleep;

hat artisanal dark chocolate last night. It upset my stomach." It was a lie, a small, pathetic shield against the truth I wa

intake. And that dark chocolate is full of it." His touch was light, almost tender, but I flinched away. His concern felt like another form of

ng to make up for my... unexpected delay yesterday." He motioned towards the vanity. The Birkin. T

waiting list, the exclusivity. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, a testament to unreachable luxury. And it meant

me to meet his gaze. His eyes held a practiced sincerity, but it was just a surface sheen

n the wall. "Business trip?" My voice was flat, devoid of infle

flash of panic. He recovered quickly, a new mask sliding into place. "Wh

was the third anniversary of her passing, Harris. The day you pr

Cecily, God, I completely forgot. I'm so sorry. Work has been insane. You know how it is."

tiness beside me, where his hand should have been. I' d told myself he was on a vital business trip, closing a deal that wo

rant, a familiar laugh, a hand brushing another hand. Jessica Casey. His "first love." Not a business trip, but a romantic getaway, a lavish gesture to placate his

esecration of a sacred memory. My mother. The woman who had loved me fiercely, who had instilled in me everythi

ash. "Just like you always forget. But then, yo

ly sorry. Let me make it up to you. Anything. Another trip, a weekend away, a private j

set like a museum of emotional neglect. Each one a monument to a hollow marriage. And I was tired. So tired of pretending, tired of patching up wounds that

er of my hunger. It cut through the tension,

" I said, my

placated. "Of course. Let me order something for you. Something light. You haven't eat

to his pocket, a move too swift, too practiced. "I'll go down to the kitchen. Chef can whip

I could finally confirm what I already knew. My fingers trembled as

et place was perfect." My breath hitched. Babe. Our little secret place. It confir

st damning of all-a photo of her smiling, holding a small item, a familiar backdrop in the background. It was the same background as the restaurant

reply: "Oh, this old thing? Harris gave it to me ages ago. So much nicer than that hideous Birkin he

was he cheating, but they were laughing at me, at the very "atonement" he offered. My stomach lurched, bile risin

Every single one. His wife, the mother of his... well, the woman he ma

sage from Jessica. "Can't wait for our surprise

quickly downloaded a discreet monitoring application I'd heard about, the kind private investigators used. It would give me access to every

d at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen, but didn't open it. "Foun

your business trip is so demanding, perhaps you should extend it. Take

ies in Miami that need my personal attention. Just a few days, then I'll be back, and we can properly talk." He wa

untouched bag, and the chilling knowledge of what was to come. The