I held his gaze, every syllable crisp and deliberate.
"I mean it."
"Morton, I don't want you anymore."
I moved out of the house.
Money wasn't an issue. I owned several luxury properties across the city.
I hung up on Morton's ninety-ninth call. His messages flooded in immediately.
"Haven't you thrown enough of a fit? My patience has a limit!"
"Viola, if you don't come back, we're really done!"
"Viola, where are you? Come home. Let's talk."
Now he wanted to talk? Too late.
I didn't bother replying. I blocked his number.
That night, I stayed late at the office.
When I finally headed down to the parking garage to get my car, I heard a commotion nearby and looked over instinctively.
It was Zara, struggling with a strange man.
He was rough, dragging her toward a utility closet.
I despised Zara. But I couldn't stand by and watch this happen.
I strode over, held up my phone, and shouted, "Stop! I've already called the police!"
The color drained from the man's face. He bolted.
She had barely rounded the corner when she ran headlong into Morton, rushing toward them from the other direction.
The man cursed under his breath and vanished into the shadows.