Serena and Arthur were married for five years. She pawned her father‘s watch to pay his employees and knitted him cashmere socks for his frostbitten feet. He swore at her father’s grave that she and Buddy would always have a home. Then he made it—and started cheating with his secretary. Serena didn‘t scream. She started decluttering. One box for every night he spent elsewhere. Ten boxes in six months. The night she sealed the last one, she handed him divorce papers. He signed without reading. Then she heard the group call: they bet on her, laughed at her silence. And Arthur had locked Buddy in a 40-degree greenhouse. She broke the glass, carried Buddy two miles to the vet—but it was too late. She destroyed the boxes, took the ashes, and left.
