Felicity woke up with a stiff neck and a dry throat. She washed her face with a bottle of water she found in the pantry-expired, but sealed.
She went to the detached garage. Her old college car, a white Volkswagen Beetle, sat under a tarp. It took three tries to start the engine, but it roared to life.
She drove into the nearest town center. She needed supplies. She pulled up to "Maison Luxe," a high-end home goods store she used to frequent as Mrs. Chandler.
The automatic doors slid open. The air conditioning was scented with lavender. Sarah, a sales associate who had helped her furnish the penthouse, rushed over.
"Mrs. Chandler! So good to see you. We just got the new Egyptian cotton line in."
Felicity smiled tightly. "Just the essentials today, Sarah."
She filled a cart. High-thread-count sheets, fluffy towels, heavy-duty cleaning supplies, a coffee maker, and several large scented candles to mask the mildew smell of South Pond.
She approached the counter. Sarah rang everything up.
"That will be three thousand, five hundred and forty dollars."
Felicity pulled out her Amex Centurion-the black card. She handed it over.
Sarah swiped it. Beep.
"Oh, error," Sarah said. She wiped the chip on her skirt and inserted it.
Beep.
The screen flashed red. DECLINED. CONTACT ISSUER.
Sarah frowned. "That's odd. Do you have another card?"
The line behind Felicity shifted. A woman in a tennis outfit sighed loudly.
Felicity felt heat creep up her neck. She pulled out a Visa. It was linked to the joint account.
Beep. DECLINED.
Realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. Garold. He had frozen everything. He was grounding her like a teenager.
The Store Manager walked over. He glanced at the screen, then at Felicity. His smile was polite but his eyes were condescending.
"Mrs. Chandler, perhaps there's a security hold? Maybe you should call your husband to sort it out?"
A whisper from the line behind her: "Isn't that the one from Page Six? I heard he cut her off."
Felicity's face burned. Humiliation, hot and sharp, pricked at her eyes.
"No need," she said. Her voice was steady, though her hands were shaking. "I don't need to call him."
She looked at the pile of luxury goods. The soft sheets. The candles.
"Remove everything," she said. "Except the bleach and the scrubbers."
"Just... the cleaning supplies?" Sarah asked, confused.
"Yes."
Felicity dug into her purse. She had forty dollars in cash.
She paid for the bleach and sponges. She left the store, leaving the cart full of comfort behind. She walked to her old Beetle, head held high, ignoring the stares.
Once inside the car, she gripped the steering wheel. She squeezed it until her knuckles turned white.
She pulled out her phone and checked her banking app. Account Frozen. Action authorized by Primary Holder: G. Chandler.
She screamed. It was a raw, guttural sound of frustration. She slammed her hand against the steering wheel, hitting the horn. The blare echoed in the parking lot.
