It was our daughter's hundred-day celebration. Claire had spared no expense, inviting every relative, friend, classmate, and coworker we knew. The ballroom, previously buzzing with laughter and toasts, had fallen into suffocating silence.
"Liam, I've just been busy with the company," Claire argued, her voice trembling. "If you can't handle the baby, hire a nanny. Is that really worth humiliating me in front of everyone? Over a few drinks?"
She stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief. Without reading a word, she seized the document and shredded it, letting the confetti rain between us.
"Yes, it is."
I met her gaze, my voice steady. The guests exchanged bewildered glances. Everyone knew Claire and I were high school sweethearts—from school uniforms to wedding attire. Five years married, ostensibly the perfect couple. To them, this was insanity. Even my in-laws stared at me like I was a stranger.
"You're throwing away your marriage because she bought beverages for her staff?" my father-in-law, Scott, demanded.
I cut him off. "Not beverages. Milk tea."
Scott frowned. "What the hell is the difference? Since when did you become so petty?"
"There is a difference," I said flatly.