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

I did not answer.

I exported the messages and kept them in a folder with the photographs and the details I’d written down.

The next morning, Laura made toast.

She kept her voice cheerful as she asked whether I wanted jam, and I almost cried because nobody was making a simple breakfast into a test of my loyalty.

I ate standing by the counter, listening to her tell me about a disastrous attempt to grow tomatoes on her balcony.

For twenty minutes, we talked about something other than Spencer.