The sound of a glass smashing on the floor echoed through the room. It felt like my heart was shattering too.
I took a deep breath and mustered the courage to calmly say, "Ricky, let's get a divorce."
His drunken stupor seemed to evaporate as he shot up and yelled, "What did you just say?! Divorce?! Are you nuts?!"
"All because Miley said your scar was gross?!"
"What's wrong with that? It's really gross!"
That made me grab a plate and throw it at him.
"Ricky, this scar—this gross scar—is what I got saving your life! And now you say something so heartless?!"
Seeing me fight back, his face darkened, and he grabbed me by the collar, his voice cold and threatening.
"I married you, didn't I?! What more do you want from me, huh?!"
"Heartless? If I'm heartless, your parents wouldn't be able to sell you! Do you really think you're worth 70,000 bucks?!"
I struggled, shouting back, "So I'm not worth 70,000 bucks, huh? If I hadn't saved you back then, you wouldn't even be alive to pay anything!"
When he refused to let go, desperation took over, and I slapped him hard across the face.
"You dare hit me?" he roared. "How dare you hit me!"