"You're a germaphobe, Bruno. You insist our laundry be washed separately. But now your shirt's on her back. So the germaphobia was only ever about me, is that it?"
Ellie put on that same saccharine act. "Mrs. Matthews, please don't misunderstand. Mr. Matthews said he was giving me this shirt. He won't be wearing it again."
"Did I ask you? My husband and I are talking. Stop putting your nose where it doesn't belong!"
Ellie's eyes glistened, her lip trembling with practiced hurt. "I just didn't want you to misunderstand Mr. Matthews."
"How thoughtful of you."
Bruno turned on me. "Judith, enough! You threw your weight around at the restaurant, and now you're starting in at home too?"
I matched his volume. "You think I wanted any of this?!"
Ellie tugged at Bruno's sleeve. "It's fine, Mr. Matthews. She's your wife, after all. I'm just an assistant. A little mistreatment won't kill me."
"Wife or not, that doesn't give her the right to treat you like this!"
"Let's get a divorce, Bruno."
He froze. "What did you just say?"
"I said I want a divorce!"
"Over something this trivial, you want a divorce?"
"You think this is trivial?"