She walked out. It was the most frightening moment of her life. She was afraid, truly and deeply afraid. For the first time in her life, her mother had pushed her one shriek too far. That moment when she felt like everything in her had died she decided, this would never happen again. She shook uncontrollably as she attempted to pack only her most important belongings, in the process defining her identity. A brush? No, everyone has brushes. The Bling Ring? Yes, can’t forget the first gift ever given to her by her film-loving fiancé. This shirt that she bought with the last of her paycheck a few weeks ago? No, she only wears that sometimes. The leather bound gold leaf edition of Brothers Karamazov that decorates her nightstand. Bridal book? No, if there was an emergency she could always get another one. She trembled as she pushed the last bit of junk into her purse, whatever could fit into what looked like just one day’s worth of goodies, maybe then they wouldn’t suspect anything. She made her way out of the house, quietly closed the door, and was finally able to breathe enough to scream.