A Birkin For Every Lie

There are ninety-nine Hermès Birkins sitting in my walk-in closet.

To the world, it' s a collection worth millions. To me, it' s a tally of ninety-nine times my husband, Harris, betrayed me.

Each bag was a silent apology I accepted to keep our hollow marriage alive.

But the hundredth betrayal wasn't fixed with crocodile leather.

On the anniversary of my mother's death, I tracked Harris to my family' s private cemetery.

He wasn't alone. Jessica, his "first love," was there, standing over the empty plot reserved for my living father, right next to my mother' s grave.