She's Dead, Mr. Blackwood Please Don't Cry

the last of her cash and stepped out into the sheeting rain. The cold drops hit her thin blouse inst

glass, a monument to a family's power, and for the last three years, her beau

avy oak door. It opened with a soft click

r the other, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. He looked u

hair, the cheap blouse clinging to her frame, th

dragged in. Done pl

e polished mahogany coffee table that separated them. She pulled a folded documen

"I want ten million dollars, and I'

divorce agreement, his eyes scanning the first page. Then he laughed. T

pace between them in two long strides, the scent of expensive whiskey and his cologne fil

urr. "Seraphina, your greed never ceases to amaze me. Tell me, what new sob story did y

else. Her eyes, usually so full of a desperate hope he despised, were empty. It was like looking i

rised him, she twisted he

ad as her eyes. "That's my price. For three years

A muscle in his jaw tightened. He was pricked by the unfamilia

ld control. "You'll get nothing. Now get out o

hout another word, she turned and walked towards the grand stai

he stairs. Instead, she continued down the long, carpeted ha

. The small, pale-blue room was exactly as she had left it a year ago. A crib, still unassembled, leaned agains

t loss, the dam finally broke. The grief, the rage, the terror-it all came pouring out, not in loud, satisfying sobs, bu

words a silent scream in her mind.

y, but it did nothing to burn away the image of her eyes. That dead, empty stare. For the first time since he

t was just a new act. A more conv