Three years of marriage, and he had never shown me an ounce of warmth.
Yet because Zara had tossed out a few hollow words about wanting us to get along, he'd graced me with a rare stretch of civility.
Zara and I shared the same birthday. He would spend the day celebrating with her first, then bring home whatever was left of their cake and toss it my way.
He picked me up from work every day, but only because it gave him an excuse to catch a glimpse of Zara at the front desk.
When I was sick with a fever, he did stay by my side all night. His eyes never left his phone, though. He didn't even notice when I collapsed on the bathroom floor.
My silence made Morton think I was reflecting on my behavior.
His tone turned condescending, as if he were bestowing a favor.
"Go apologize to Zara tomorrow, and I'll let the whole thing go."
"As long as you behave yourself, I promise I'll treat you better from now on."
Before, I might have caved. I might have swallowed my pride and apologized, all because I loved him.
But now, I couldn't even stand to look at him.
The next evening after work, Morton sent me a text telling me to meet him at the restaurant across the street.