A Birkin For Every Lie

McNei

trance to a battlefield. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. I pulled my car to the side of the winding pat

he was dressed in a pristine white sundress, a wide-brimmed straw hat framing her face, giving her the air of a grieving ingenue. Her blonde hair cascaded ove

stressed, his movements stiff, but he was there. Doing Jessica' s bidding. The groundskeepers, burly men in work overalls

a delicate lace handkerchief. It was all a performance, a grotesque charade. She looked up at Harris, a f

her's. The empty space, perfectly manicured, nestled between my mother' s headstone and a small, antique bench I had placed ther

ked the cat's fur, her lips moving in a silent farewell. It was an act of profound disrespect, a perverse ritual played out on sacred ground. She lifted t

tent it threatened to consume me. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. My v

uiet cemetery. My legs moved before my mind registered th

rd tore from my thr

ff, revealing eyes wide with shock, then a flash of genuine f

ngers digging into her flesh. She winced, a soft cry escaping her lips. "Wh

of shock and alarm. He starte

ly between me and Harris. "Let go of me! You're hurtin

ying your damn cat in my father's grave plot!" My voice was a furious whisper, an uncharacteristic loss of control. I, Cecily McNeil, who prided myself on my com

ge now. "What's the big deal? It's not like your fat

or decades, next to my mother, Eleanor McNeil. It' s a place of honor, a symbol of enduring love, not a dumping ground for your dead pet!

Harris, her voice trembling. "Harris, darling, she's gone mad! She's attacking me! Make

Jessica, then at the freshly disturbed earth. A slow dawning horror spread across his face. He finally understood the grav

ath to me. "Don't touch her, Harris! She's unhinged! She's just looking for someone to bla

words died. He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between us. He was torn, but the ingrained habit of protecting Jessica, of seeing