I pulled his suits off the wooden hangers, one by one, and stuffed them into the bag.

I didn’t fold them.

I didn’t care if they got wrinkled.

I packed his silk ties, his leather belts, and his expensive Italian shoes.

I moved to the dresser and pulled open his drawers.

His socks, his monogrammed shirts, his gold cufflinks—all went into the bag.

When the first bag was full, I tied it shut with a tight double knot.

I dragged it out to the hallway landing.

I filled three more bags with his things.

Then I went to the guest bedroom, which Solene had claimed as her personal suite.

The room smelled of her heavy, lavender-scented perfume.

She had left her expensive leather vanity case on the dresser, along with several jars of face cream.

I swept them all into a smaller garbage bag.

I pulled her silk sheets off the bed, exposing the bare mattress.

I would wash those sheets in hot water and bleach, then donate them to the local shelter.

I wanted nothing in this house that had touched her skin.