A Birkin For Every Lie

McNei

tombstone for another piece of my broken marriage. Each bag, a monument to Harris's infidelity, a glittering trophy of my own emotional defeat.

bitant value, mocked me. They were supposed to make me feel cherished, protected, but all they did was remind me of the hollow natur

ented it with a sheepish grin, claiming it was a spontaneous gift, a token of his love. "You looked so stunning at the gala last night, darling," he' d cooed, "I just thought you d

ore rehearsed. The gifts escalated in rarity and price, as if the cost directly correlated to the depth of his transgression. The initial joy I felt with the

d forgiveness. A quiet, firm resolve settled deep within me. This was the last one. The hundredth bag, when

e monitoring app. An audio transmission. My heart hammered a

filled the silent room. "Oh, Harris, darling, I hope Cecily

her? That his wife, after years of silent suffering

weather. Nothing to worry about." He sounded like he was trying to reassure a child. They were in a car. I could

er the weather' tonight, my love. I've got a surprise for you." Her voice dropped an

's been a long day." Harris's v

e old times." There was a pause, filled with rustling sounds, a soft giggle. "Still, she really did a number on you,

. The ninety-nine bags he' d given me. And she w

y wife. And those bags... they're just a way to keep things civil." A way to

l, I'm glad we don't have to be 'civil,' aren't you?" Another pause, a soft sigh

rds of affection, painted a vivid, sickening picture in my mind. He was with her. Again. While I was home, alone, pick

e an eternity, but I couldn't bring myself to turn it off. I needed to hear every last detail, t

ca's voice, a little breathless. "Harris, darlin

out sound. "Jess, we talked a

. "You said you'd make sure Buttons had the best resting pla

flaunted all over Instagram, the one she' d claimed was her soulmate, the one she' d cried

oice softer now, appeasing. "And I will.

. And it would really show her who's boss, wouldn't it? A little reminder. A sign of our... permanence." Her

ration. "It's my father-in-law's plot. It's reserved for Arvel. Cecily would ki

ing anywhere soon, is he? Besides, it would be so romantic. Our little Buttons, forever

Eleanor. A sacred place, a symbol of our family' s history, our enduring love. And she wanted to bury her cat

ed. It was the sound of a man giving in, again. "But you have to prom

hose bags, and still so dramatic." Then she laughed, a triumphant, mocking sound tha

k being overheard or monitored. The silence that followed was deafening, a thick blanket of despair. My heart r

next to my mother, next to my living father's reserved spot, played on an endless loop in my mind.