All of it was a performance, and I had played my part for too long. The cracks had started to show, and when the arguments became more frequent, I knew it wasn’t long before the inevitable happened.
The thing is, I wasn’t scared of the divorce. I knew Mike, and I knew exactly how this would play out.
He didn’t care about saving the marriage. No, what he wanted was to win — win the house, win the money, win the divorce.
All I wanted was to be free of this pretentious lifestyle. But that didn’t mean I was going to let him screw me over, either. So, I’d let Mike have what he wanted, but with a catch as sharp as a fishhook.
It happened on a Tuesday. Mike came home late, again. I was in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through my phone, not bothering to look up when he stormed in.
