"Is this what you’re doing now?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You leave me and within days, you’re running around with some boy who looks barely out of school? Is this who you are, Jane?"
"Let go of me!" I struggled to free myself, but his grip only tightened. "He’s just a photographer! You don’t get to accuse me of anything after what you’ve done!"
He sneered, his eyes flicking to the boy, then back to me. "I’ve done? You think what I did compares to this? To you parading around with someone else?"
Before I could respond, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed in the street and for a moment, everything was still. Mark’s face snapped to the side, his cheek red and swelling. He turned back to me slowly, disbelief in his eyes.
"Don’t you dare," I said, my voice trembling with anger, "don’t you dare accuse me of the things you’ve done. He was doing his job, nothing more. But you—" I pointed at him, my finger shaking. "You’re the one who broke this. You’re the one who destroyed everything we had."