She never imagined how fast things could get worse. The woman arrived on Thursday. Not alone. With trash bags. She didn’t introduce herself. She walked past Alexis like she belonged there, opening drawers, pulling clothes from closets, tossing them into black plastic bags without care. “What are you doing?” Alexis asked, her voice barely working.
The woman didn’t stop. “Helping,” she said lightly. “Vincent wants this done today.” She paused only once—to set aside jewelry. Dresses. Shoes. Things Vincent had bought Alexis over the years. “Those stay,” she said. “He paid for them.”