My Cardboard Balcony

The Rich Man's Delusion by Belinda Roddie My pewter house is melting in the volcanic inferno. I have sacrificed my sons for sanctity. If this is the end, pluck the rings from my swollen thumbs and sell them to the highest bidders. Not because I have any kin to bequeath them to, but because I have a delicate reputation to uphold.

You weren't the slightest apologetic after the fight. You didn't give me ice for my bruises, or take back any of the words you assaulted me with. You acted like you were simply "in a bad mood," like I could easily forgive you for a lapse in judgment. I couldn't. That was why I packed two bags and left you a brief goodbye note on the kitchen table for you to peruse by the time I was a good one hundred miles away. Good thing I wasn't apologetic, either.