Later that night, back at our house, I was sitting at my vanity, taking off my earrings. The reflection in the mirror showed a woman who looked ten years older than she was.
The door banged open.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded, slamming the door behind him. “...outside my grandfather’s house! With Martin!”
I frowned, turning to face him. “We were talking. He was offering his condolences. Unlike you, he actually seemed to care for our baby.”
“Condolences?” Nathan let out a harsh laugh. “Is that what you call it? You were practically climbing him! I saw you hugging him. I saw how you looked at him.”
He marched over to me, gripping the back of my chair. “Are you flirting with Martin? Is that it? You’re trying to get back at me by throwing yourself at my best friend?”
“Flirting?” I stood up, pushing his hand away. “He hugged me because I was crying, Nathan! Because my husband was too busy coddling the woman who killed our child to comfort me!”
“Don’t turn this around!” Nathan yelled. “I saw you! You’ve always had a soft spot for him, haven’t you? Is that why you’re so eager for a divorce? So you can run to him?”
The hypocrisy was suffocating. It was so thick I could taste it.