Chapter Three-Penelope

September was my favorite month out of the entire year.

It was my mother’s birth month, and she used to always celebrate by baking special goodies with me.

It’s where I learned and honed my love of baking. So, no, I would not let this rotten sonovabitch ruin it for me.

Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and listened to my ex whine and threaten me with more legal bullshit.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I snapped, unable to keep silent any longer.

“It’s only fair, Pig Pen,” Burt, my ex-husband, said in that whiny voice of his that actually made me sick.

“Don’t call me that,” I said, hating the nickname even more now that we weren’t married any longer.

“Well, I guess I will see you in court then,” he replied.

I looked down at the letter in my hand. The one he’d sent requesting I give him copies of all my business tax returns, demanding half my earnings. The prick was claiming he had a right to take what I gave my blood, sweat, and tears to build.

Over my dead body.