My House, My Revenge

Six months after losing my husband, Mark, I was a ghost in my own life, scrolling through Instagram when a photo ripped me from my numbness.

It was Chloe' s account, a former intern I' d mentored, but the background-our living room.

My living room.

Only it wasn' t.

The minimalist haven I designed was desecrated by gaudy gold wallpaper, a hideous leopard-print sofa, and a cheap crystal chandelier.

Strangers laughed, red plastic cups in hand, in the space Mark and I built as a testament to our love.

The house, bleeding, was screaming.