“I don’t care what that asswipe said. I looked freaking gorgeous in that dress,” I mumbled under my breath, as I continued cutting his pathetic looking face out of my wedding photos. Gabe no longer deserved the right to have his face next to mine.

For one brief moment, I considered burning the entire album, but that would have been a waste of gorgeous hair and makeup. Not to mention the fire codes in my crappy apartment building likely didn’t approve of torching your wedding album in the living room. They should, though. Especially if said album contained a lying, cheating, bastard of a man who broke your heart.

We should have sprung for an apartment with a fireplace.

Oh well, too late now.

Over the years, Gabe had extracted me from my life and deposited me into his. It happened slowly, an imperceptible shift. First, he didn’t want to go out with my friends anymore. Next, he complained whenever I went out with them. And soon enough, I stopped going out altogether so I wouldn’t have to deal with his temper tantrums later. Trust me, the guy could put on a good show.

The situation was impossible for me to see at the time, but he had slowly and methodically separated me from everything and everyone I held dear in my life. I didn’t even know about his gambling until we were well into our marriage. The warnings had gone unheeded—heaven knows everyone and their dog tried to advise me. But marriage was forever. Right? You didn’t give up when the going got tough.

But you did give up when you came home to find your betrothed going at it with your cousin. I shivered at the memory of those two. If only there were brain bleach that could kill that image from replaying inside my head.

I kept cutting. The five-layer cake in the picture was phenomenal in both looks and price. Extra pink roses and detailing cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Wasn’t it?

What was not worth it was listening to Gabe regurgitate those facts back to me for months…years to come. He always had to one-up me, and his logic was, if I got my wedding—that we saved up for—he could get whatever he wanted. Whenever he wanted it. Which was mostly booze, gambling, and games.

So, no, the cake and the wedding were not worth it.

“Harper, don’t you think it’s a bit much?” I mimicked Gabe’s voice in a too-high octave. “What will people think?” That was what he said about my dress. My beautiful dress with a fitted bodice that flared out to a fluffy, full floor-length skirt.

The pictures I held in my hands displayed a happy princess. Too bad the guy turned out to be a toad even after I kissed him.

“Was I blind? Was I too fucking blind to see what was happening?” The scissors flew across the room and stuck in the drywall above the TV. Uh-oh. They almost hit the TV. Gabe’s precious fucking TV. The TV he couldn’t stop watching to pay me any attention. Bastard.

Before I realized what was happening, I barreled toward his gaming system, my vision clouded with rage. “He wants his fucking game back?” I screamed at the TV. “Take your fucking game back, you piece of shit.” And then the gaming system somehow flew through the air and crashed into the TV.

Glass was everywhere. Something registered that I should feel terrible about destroying something so expensive, but what I felt instead was far from guilt. I felt powerful. Relieved. Trashing his shit made me feel better. Therefore, I needed to trash more of his shit. That made complete sense.

The pounding in my ears was so loud it was impossible to hear the pounding on the door—or perhaps I just didn’t care. There were curtains that needed replacing. The curtain rod made a loud snap as my hands gripped and pulled down the long, thick, black drapes. “Who the fuck puts up black curtains? Huh? What kind of psycho puts up black curtains?” I yelled as I fought with the velvety material. It wasn’t coming down without a fight, so I grabbed on tight and gave one last yank.

“Is everything okay?” a sweet voice called from my doorway. Startled, I fought and wrestled with the heavy material that had fallen on me.

“Fine,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. My nerves got the best of me and I ran my hands through my hair, as if tidy locks would erase the damage I’d done. “All good in here.” My new neighbor stood staring at the display before her. Her white pantsuit must’ve cost a mint and fit her like she was born to wear it. And those leather heels with criss-cross straps would have set me back a paycheck or two. A thought suddenly occurred to me. “How did you get in? I was sure I locked the door,” I said, absolutely positive I had done just that.

“Did that asshole do this?” she asked, changing the subject. Her face scowled as she examined the shattered TV and glass all over my living room.

“Uh, I assume you mean my cheating husband. But, no. I did it. All me,” I answered with a shaky voice and a shaky smile to match. “Sorry for the noise. I just...got...angry,” I told her, then wiped under my eyes to catch the tears that fell. “Shit, sorry,” I apologized again.

She sighed and let her hands slide from her hips. “Kicked him to the curb, did you? I heard the disturbance over here yesterday. Have to say I pegged him as a cheater the minute I laid eyes on him,” she mused as she moved the wedding photos to the side with her perfect shoe. “Five-tier wedding cake. Good choice,” she said and half-nodded. “Nice touch with the cascading pink and white roses.” This chick really knew her wedding cakes.

“It was alternating vanilla and chocolate layers,” I told her as my voice cracked and my eyes filled with tears again.

Her delicate hand swooped down to grab one of the cut-up photos. “Although,” she tapped the picture with her professionally manicured finger, “that’s a bit more glitter than I’d personally put on a wedding gown.”

“Yeah.” I smiled at her through my tears. “Isn’t it great? The bridesmaids had matching iridescent glitter on their dresses.” Her sharp eyes took me in and assessed. My legs wobbled from my emotion overload, and without warning, she stepped in and grabbed me in a tight hug. It was incredibly weird but incredibly comforting. I held on for dear life and continued sobbing. I was embarrassed for the tears and snot I was likely getting all over her expensive suit, but I couldn’t stop. It was the most secure I’d been in ages. Maybe ever.

My tears slowed, and my sobbing stopped when a loud, “What is happening?” boomed from the doorway. “Some kind of raid?” The “r” in “raid” was rolled in a beautiful accent. I looked over to see my other neighbor in a blue, white, and green striped brunch coat. We represented the entire spectrum of fashion—angel in her high-class white suit, me in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, and the old woman in...pj’s.

I stepped away. “Oh, no, sorry. I got mad and smashed my TV to smithereens,” I tried to explain, pointing at the TV and sounding like a complete moron.

“Good.” Her arms went up in the air. “Anger is the first step to getting over these things. You got lots more to go, but this is good start. I’ll go get garbage bags and gloves to pick that up.” She motioned to the glass with her pointy, red polished finger. “Nobody touches nothing until I get back,” she ordered and turned to walk away.

“I’m Riley and that was Roza. We’ll be helping you clean up this evening whether you like it or not,” she said with such sweet, sincere, hopeful eyes.

For some reason, we both burst out in laughter.

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER…

There was knocking at my door, followed by a loud voice yelling, “Hello? Harper, open up.” I’d know that voice anywhere.

Stepping over the few shoes I kept in the entryway, I opened the door. “Hi, Roza.” Since the night she and Riley came to my rescue, we were all pretty tight.

“Harper,” she bellowed, even though I was right beside her. With her Czech accent, it sounded more like, “Harrrrrpurrr.” She had two levels on her voice volume-o-meter—loud and burst-your-gosh-darn-eardrums. I loved her, but sometimes she made my ears bleed.

I wished I could rrrrrrolll my r’s like her. Sometimes I practiced in the shower. Roza must be in her mid-seventies by my best guess. She was sweet as heck, once you got past all the layers of gruff and bossy.

Roza pointed at me. “Go outside, my love. What you think, man of your dreams will pop out of window?” She swung her long arm out toward the big window where the morning sun streamed in. Her arm stopped moving, but the skin under her arm took a few more seconds to come to a complete halt.

Today’s brunch coat was bright yellow. You would think that someone who wore pajamas all day would look like a slob, but not Roza. Her blonde-gray hair was always styled in an immovable high bun. I had no clue how she achieved that incredible feat. It could be windy as hell outside, but Roza’s hair wouldn’t budge. Perhaps it was too scared?

“Do you want coffee? I made a pot.” I walked to the kitchen and grabbed two mugs from the top cabinet. “It’s seven a.m. I’m sure all the available bachelors are still sleeping. Most mornings I try to wait until at least nine to pounce on my unsuspecting victims.” What a joke that was. I hadn’t pounced on anything besides my battery-operated buddy in well over a year and a half.

“Am I still breathing? Of course, I want coffee,” she said and frowned at me. But it wasn’t a real frown. “And don’t blame me for you not having a man. You need to start early in day if you want to find good one this time. Not another skinny little wimp like last one,” she said, sucking in her cheeks and squeezing her arms to her sides in an attempt to make herself small. This did not work. Roza was not and would never be small. She was built like a brick shithouse. “I’ll pick good man for you. Nice and strong. Big hands,” she said with her hands stuck out in front of her. “Yes, yes, nice big, strong hands.” She looked off into space as if imagining what this strong man would do with his large hands. So, I left her to it. Far be it from me to take away a woman’s fun.

“Gabe wasn’t a tiny man,” I said for the thousandth time. Just because he didn’t measure up to her late husband’s height, Roza pegged him as small.

“He was. You just forget,” she said and shuffled over to the stools in her pink slippers that had seen better days. She grabbed the island with both hands and hefted herself up onto one of the wooden stools. I handed her the steaming black cup of daily hope and took my first sip out of my “Gymnasts Do It Better” mug. Ah, a reason to live.

Never in my life would I understand people who didn’t add crap to their coffee. On the other hand, if I didn’t make my coffee like a dessert, I wouldn’t have all this booty to contend with. My behind wasn’t huge or anything, but I was curvy. Besides, it all evened out with my cleavage on top.

“What’s up today? Any plans?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Maybe I will go to grocery store. We’ll see,” she said as she avoided my eyes and pretended to study the ugly abstract art picture on my wall.

Yeah, “we’ll see,” my ass. Today was Tuesday, and everyone over sixty-five knew what that meant—Senior Appreciation Day at Pat’s Grocery Store. And that meant free cookies and coffee and enough gossip to sink a small ship.

“Yoo-hoo! Knock, knock! What in the world are you doing up this early, Roza? I heard a commotion over here.” In walked Riley. She was five foot ten inches, one hundred twenty-five pounds of class on heels. Her blonde hair was streaked to perfection, and I liked to stare at it in wonder. Flawless makeup, flawless skin, always in the perfect outfit, which today was a beige skirt with the cutest white blouse I had ever seen.

I raised my eyebrows. “It’s Tuesday. She’s killing time until the main event.” I nodded my head in Roza’s direction where she sat giving me the evil eye.

“Riiight.” It dawned on Riley. “Pat’s doesn’t open until eight.” She winked at Roza and sat down on the other stool with all the grace and practice of a trained supermodel.

“Coffee?” I asked, raising my mug in the air.

“Nah, early meeting. I’ll grab something on the way. But thanks.”

“Riley, you have talk with Harper. I keep telling her and telling her she needs to go out, meet nice, strong man with big hands. Take Harper with you and find one for her. You meet big, strong men with big hands all the time.”

Gulp. This was true. I’d seen some of Riley’s exploits. They were always big men, but they never lasted more than a night.

The pain must end. “Roza, I’ve only been divorced for six months, and I’ve been...busy,” I said, lying my ample ass off.

“Yeah, but that dick left you a year and a half ago for that Jenny? Janey?” Riley frowned, trying to remember the home-wrecker’s name.

“Mary-Jane.” Thanks for the reminder.

“Right, Mary-Jane. Anyway, Roza’s right. It’s time for you to get back on track. We should go out. How about tomorrow night?” She tilted her perfectly coiffed head and blinked her perfectly made-up eyes at me.

“Harper, tomorrow night. It’s decided.” Riley swung her purse over her shoulder in one flawless move and turned like she was at the end of a runway, then reached to open the door. Why couldn’t I do classy stuff like that?

I shook myself out of my Riley stalking behavior and put my cup on the counter in front of me. “Riley, my marriage ended six months ago. I’m not ready yet,” I repeated and glared at Roza, who was clearly happy she got her way.

“Ha! Darling, your marriage was over long before your divorce was finalized. We all know that. Time for you to move on now.” She opened the door and her perfect hair swung behind her. “Bye, ladies. Have fun today, Roza. Save me a cookie.” She grinned at both of us and did a cute little finger wave and left.

It looked like I was going clubbing for the first time in ten years. Sigh.