She Played the Housewife , Until She Found Out What He Was Drinking

Three years of marriage, and he'd handled nearly every chore, kept me sheltered like a hothouse flower—and the whole time, this so-called perfect husband was making my life a joke.

My gaze hardened. I pulled up the divorce appointment on my phone and sent it to Morton.

"Whether you agree or not, I'm ending this marriage."

"Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock, the courthouse. Show up, or I file for divorce through the courts."

Morton froze for a beat, then softened his voice and reached for my hand, coaxing me the way you'd calm a child mid-tantrum.

"Come on, I know you're just jealous—you want me to prove I care. I promise, from now on I won't drink anything anyone else pours for me. Only yours. Okay?"

My stomach turned. I pulled my hand free, turned around, poured a glass of milk, and set it down in front of him.

"Then drink this."

Morton looked at the glass. His expression went dark in an instant.

"You know I'm allergic to milk. And you're going to force this on me today?"

"Paula, when did you become so unreasonable?"

I looked at him and laughed, cold and sharp.

"Oh, so now you remember you're allergic? Then why did you drink the milk Lottie poured you just now without a single reaction?"

"Or can you drink hers just fine—and only mine makes you 'allergic'?"

His fists clenched at his sides, veins rising along his knuckles.

He was about to erupt when Lottie stepped forward and picked up the glass.

"Paula, this is all my fault. Let me drink it for Morton as an apology. Please don't make things harder for him, okay?"

"Morton Henson is still my husband. Who are you to him? Nobody asked you to drink on his behalf."

The performance on Lottie's face—that soft, wounded concern that wasn't hers to wear—made my skin crawl. I snatched the glass from her hand and poured it over her head.

Milk streaked down her hair, her forehead, the front of her dress. Someone behind me sucked in a breath.

"You're out here feeding someone else's husband your milk—does your own husband know? Does your child?"

Morton watched the milk drip from Lottie's face and shoved me so hard my heel caught and I stumbled sideways. He pulled Lottie into his arms.

"I've been too good to you. That's why you think you can do whatever you want."

"You want a divorce? Fine. But you leave this marriage with nothing."

So there it was. Finally.

He looked utterly certain I wouldn't dare actually leave him. After all, I'd been his caged bird for three years.

I let out a low, cold laugh.

"I'm not the one who did anything wrong. Why should I be the one leaving with nothing?"

"The one who should walk away empty-handed is you."

Laughter rippled through the room before the last word had left my mouth.

"Everyone knows you've been nothing but a housewife since you married Morton. He's the one who's supported you this whole time. And you actually have the nerve to say he should leave with nothing? Have you no shame?"

"All this over a glass of milk. Demanding your husband leave the marriage with nothing. You've lost your mind."

Anna Henson was so furious she marched straight up and slapped me across the face.

"Without my son, you're nothing but damaged goods. Let's see who'd ever want a woman as hysterical as you!"

I pressed my hand to my stinging, swelling cheek and was about to speak when Morton grabbed his mother's arm.

"Mom, stop. Paula is still your daughter-in-law. She's just angry right now, that's why she's making a scene about divorce. Once she calms down, she'll come back to me on her own."

Heads nodded around the room. Someone murmured what a good man he was. Someone else clucked about how ungrateful I was, how I didn't know a blessing when I had one. Morton stood there with Lottie still tucked against his side, wearing the patient, long-suffering expression of a saint—and every pair of eyes in that room looked at me like I was the villain.