This home is a trap, a threat, a promise of violence. I refuse to let it intimidate me.
The bathroom is brimming with luxury products—face washes and creams and lotions, straighteners and mousse, makeup and hundreds of different brushes. The bed is made up with Egyptian cotton sheets with a six-figure thread count. And even though I shouldn’t be surprised by it, I can’t help letting out a tiny little gasp when I step into the walk-in closet and find it stocked with row after row of clothing—all exactly in my sizes.
I finger the fine fabrics of the dresses. Run my finger along the edge of the shoes. Touch the necklaces, the earrings, the watches.
It all glistens like gold. But I know the truth—it’s fool’s gold. The truth behind these nice things is rotten to the core.
On a whim, I go ba
