The Night He Told Me to Leave, He Forgot Whose Name Was on Everything

the documents he was so eager for me to sign. Instead, I looked past him at the sofa where Kylie lounged, her muddy boots resting carelessly on upholstery that cost more than most people’s monthly salary.

My upholstery. Purchased through my company. Registered to my business.

Kylie was what my mother would call “Instagram pretty”—the kind of aesthetic continue reading …