A wave of nausea twisted in my stomach. I didn’t even want to imagine how many times they had done this behind my back.
In the end, I didn’t clean up. I just sat on the couch, staring blankly into the darkness for half the night.
At some point, Alfie came back into the living room. He sighed, crouched down, and started picking up the broken lampshards one by one. Then, he knelt in front of me and spoke softly, “You really think I’d make you clean this up?”
He gave me a look as if I were being difficult. “Shirley was eating with us for the first time. No matter what, you should have given me some respect as your husband. If word gets out, do you know how embarrassing that is for me?”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
His chest and back were covered in faint red scratch marks—marks that weren’t from me.
He didn’t even try to hide them. Because in his eyes, I was just a blind woman. Someone he didn’t have to answer to.
“Don’t be upset,” he said, inching closer. “It’s bad for the baby.”
The scent of Shirley’s perfume clung to his skin, making my stomach churn.
His hands, the same ones that had just been on her, reached out to touch my face.