Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

The funeral was small. Pathetic, really. Three days later, weeping a steady drizzle over the private cemetery in Queens. There were no press, no Lancaster associates. Just Isolde, the priest, and two members of the household staff who had liked Effie enough to show up. Grayson wasn't there. His assistant had emailed Isolde that morning. Emergency board meeting regarding the Asian market expansion. Mr. Lancaster sends his regrets. Isolde watched the small white casket being lowered into the ground. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it. It buzzed again. And again. She pulled it out, thinking it might be the hospital with some final paperwork. It was an Instagram notification. Belle Escobar had tagged Grayson Lancaster. Location: The Hamptons Golf Club. The photo showed Grayson mid-swing. In the background, Kaiden was holding a set of miniature golf clubs, laughing. Belle was holding a mimosa. The caption read: Sometimes you just need a mental health day with the boys. Isolde stared at the screen until the pixels burned into her retinas. A mental health day. While his daughter was being buried in the mud. She didn't scream. The part of her that could scream had died in the ICU. She went home. The penthouse was quiet. Grayson was still gone. Isolde walked into Effie's room. It still smelled like baby powder and lavender. She began to pack. Clothes into boxes. Toys into bags. The drawings on the fridge. The toothbrush in the bathroom. The front door opened around 6 PM. Grayson walked in.He stopped in the hallway, seeing the pile of boxes. "Finally," he said, loosening his polo shirt. "I've been telling you to clear out that clutter for months. We can turn that room into a proper study for Kaiden now." Isolde stood still, holding a manila envelope. She walked over to him. "Sign this," she said. Grayson glanced at the envelope. "What is it? Another bill for her specialists? I told you, just send it to accounting." "Just sign it," she said. Her voice was hollow. Grayson rolled his eyes, taking the pen she offered. He didn't even read the header. He scrawled his signature-Grayson Lancaster-large and looping, the signature of a man who owned the world. "There," he said, tossing the envelope back onto the console. "Done. Now, Belle got that promotion to VP today. We're hosting a dinner tonight. Tell Mrs. Higgins to prepare something impressive. And try to look... less like a corpse." Isolde took the signed papers. She didn't answer. She walked to the terrace doors. "Where are you going?" Grayson called out, already walking toward the kitchen. Isolde stepped out into the cool evening air. She had built a fire in the decorative fire pit earlier. She held the wedding album over the fire. The flames licked up the sides, curling the photos. She watched her own smiling face from five years ago turn black and crumble to ash. She picked up the teddy bear. The one Effie slept with every night. She dropped that too. "Isolde?" Grayson was standing at the glass doors, a glass of water in his hand. He looked confused. He sniffed the air. "What are you burning?" he asked, sliding the door open. "It smells like burning plastic." Isolde turned to look at him. Her eyes were voids. "Trash," she said. "Just trash." Grayson frowned. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his chest, a tightness he couldn't explain. He rubbed his sternum. "Stop being weird. Get dressed for dinner." He went back inside. Isolde watched him go. She turned back to the fire. The bear was gone. The photos were gone. She walked back into the kitchen, opened the cabinet above the sink, and took down the bottle of prescription sleeping pills. The ones the doctor gave her for her 'nerves.' She poured a glass of water. She walked to the guest bedroom-the one she had been sleeping in for the last year. She sat on the edge of the bed. She swallowed the first pill. Then the second. Then the handful. She lay back, crossing her hands over her chest. I'm coming, Effie, she thought. Wait for Mommy.