Revenge Served Cold, Sweet

“My husband, Mark, walked in with her draped on his arm, a wide-eyed girl clutching a teddy bear, and casually announced she' d be staying with us. I watched, numb, as she ate chicken from his fork, her lips brushing the metal, her eyes locked on his-a brazen declaration made right at my dining table. The silence that followed, thick and heavy, was broken only by the wet thud of the entire roasted chicken I scraped into the garbage, his furious outburst echoing in the sudden chill of the room. He stood before me, defending her, blaming me, his eyes filled with a disappointment that screamed I was the problem, leaving me bewildered and furious at his immediate, instinctual betrayal. When I stormed out, leaving him alone with her, I thought I was simply escaping, but now I know that was the moment I stopped being his wife and started planning his downfall.”