"Come on! Edmund and I have nothing on!" she snapped, crossing her arms. "I told you, he just wanted a picture with our baby. Why do you always have to be so damn possessive?"
I clenched my fists, trying to rein in the anger bubbling up inside me.
"Possessive?" I scoffed. "Since he came back, have you ever noticed the insane things you've done for him?"
Her eyes narrowed, and her tone turned cold.
"Duncan, don't you dare," she warned. "He's my childhood friend. I'm successful now—why shouldn't I help him out a little?"
I let out a laugh. Not the funny kind—the kind you make when you realize you're screwed.
"So, you 'helped' him all the way into bed. Is that what you're saying?" I retorted.
Her face twisted with anger.
Before I knew it, her hand came down hard across my face.
"Seriously, Duncan, when did you turn into this paranoid asshole? If I wanted to sleep with him, you'd be long gone! You better watch your mouth, or don't blame me if I push for the divorce myself!"
With that, she stormed off, slamming the door behind her.
I just stood there, touching my face, my cheek burning from the slap.
Since Edmund had shown up, my wife wasn't the same.