When I Refused to Pay for Dinner, My Husband Threw Wine in My Face. He Never Expected What I Did Next.

“No,” I said softly.

“I’m finally telling the truth about it.”

For one confused instant, I noticed the smallest details at the table.

A candle burned between the salt and pepper shakers.

Someone two tables away had stopped in the middle of cutting a piece of fish.

My hands were wet, and I could not tell whether the water on my wrists came from the wine or the tears I had refused to shed.

Spencer had often told me I was embarrassing him when I asked a perfectly reasonable question.