Milo nodded, his eyes distant as he turned and stepped off the porch. Eliana watched until he rounded the corner, waiting another minute in case he returned again. She felt for him and what he must be experiencing, but talking brought the matter back to the forefront of her own mind, and only served to fuel her steps as she marched back to the edge of the woods.
The heat of the sun warmed her neck as she gathered more sticks. Once she had a decent-sized pile, she arranged them in a rectangle and cleared out the rest of the space. Living outside the city limits, she’d burned plenty of trash over the years, though she’d never planned a bonfirequitethis large. There was a first time for everything.
She turned back to the house, marched inside, and yanked her favorite quilted comforter off the bed, grateful that it hadn’t been the comforter used on Friday. Then she slipped her hands under the edge of the mattress and heaved, barely making an inch of headway. She tried a different angle, lifting from a corner, but could only roll it up a foot or so before it came flying back down.
Eliana growled in frustration, grabbing the handle on the end and planting a foot on the frame. She yanked it down towards herself, moving it a couple of inches at a time. Her growl grew into a scream as she pulled, exerting all the anger within, then she let it slump back down as she took a breather.
Before she couldget back to it, however, the back door crashed open and Eliana spun around, staring down the hall to where Milo now stood, chest heaving.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Uh . . . yeah?” Eliana answered in a daze, shocked by his sudden appearance. Her heart raced as she cleared her throat and asked, “What are you doing?”
He blinked. “You screamed.”
“Ohh . . .” She hummed, understanding dawning, making her grimace as she stepped to the side and pointed. “It’s heavier than I thought.”
“Oh,” Milo parroted, scratching his jaw awkwardly as his gaze turned shrewd. “That’s where . . .”
“Yep.”
“Shit. You, uh, need a hand?”
Eliana glanced back at the mattress. It would take her ages to move it out back.Ah, to hell with it.“Yes. Please.”
He nodded, solemn, then stepped down the hall and wrapped a hand around the handle she’d just been pulling on. He jerked it up, and the mattress rose, like it was made of a single feather rather than eightfuckingtrillion of them.
Eliana pouted as she followed him down the hall. She’d definitely be adding a workout regimen to her post-Jesse life-improvement plan next. She snatched the old bedsheets from the washing machine, where Jesse hadn’t even remembered to transition them into the dryer, and carried them outside, holding them from her body as if they bore the plague.
“What are you going to tell him when he asks about the mattress?” He asked, laying it out on top of her makeshift pyre.
“Bedbugs,” she said immediately, tossing the sheetscarelessly on top.
Milo choked on a laugh, then cleared his throat. “Well, damn.”
She smirked, walking back to grab the matches from the shelf by the grill.
“I thought about what you said,” Milo continued once she moved back into hearing range. “What you said about divorce and prenups . . . and it reminded me. Bea and I signed a prenup. It has a divorce clause in it that if we split, we split our assets equally. Which means she gets half of everything I’ve built during our marriage. Half of my business.” He cast Eliana a quick side glance. “It’s, uh . . . substantial.But, if one party cheats, the other party gets to choose to either split orretainany assets they explicitly own.” He sighed. “She doesn’t get to walk with both my pride and my money. She justcan’t.”
Eliana stared, her lips pursed as she thought. Clearly, the audio clip wasn’t enough for his case if he was back, explaining this whole ordeal to her.
“So you need proof? Likevideoproof?”
Milo nodded.
“And I need time.” She laughed. “What a pair we make—trapped in these shitty marriages, pretending like things are fine.”
“Not for long,” Milo pointed out, his eyes echoing his pain. “I can’t take it for long. Just until we get what we need.” He glanced over at her. “So what are you planning exactly? What are we going to do?”
Eliana smiled, letting the anger boil deep, deep below. It wasn’t a blaze that she tended, devastating to everything in its vicinity—but a controlled burn. Manageable andpurposeful.
“That’s easy.” Her voice was determinedas she struck a match, watching the flame dance at the tips of her fingers. “We burn it down.”
She slid the match into the kindling she’d nestled beneath the center of the mattress, watching as the orange glow spread up, then swiftly outwards from within.
“From the inside out,” Milo said, his tone mesmerized.
Eliana glanced back up at him, noting how the flicker of flames reflected gold in his eyes as they climbed, until the entire mattress was consumed and the heat of the fire warmed their skin. And he remained there, right at her side, a figure of quiet strength while they burned away the painful weeds of the past . . . clearing out the space they’d need for something new to take root.
