Please relocate those two immediately, Riiiip!
The walk-in closet was a sanctuary of cedar and the suffocating scent of Mark’s Santal 33—a cologne that cost more per ounce than the meager weekly grocery budget he allowed me. As I folded a faded college sweatshirt, Mark’s voice cut through the silence like a jagged blade. He was impatient, impeccably dressed in a…