I looked him dead in the eye. "I told you I never touched her. She was putting on an act. Do you believe me?"
Morton froze for a second, then let out a derisive laugh. "I trust Zara's character."
The answer I'd expected. I tugged at the corner of my mouth and went back to applying ointment to my bruises.
My indifference made Morton feel ignored, and his temper flared instantly.
"Viola, what gives you the right to give me attitude? Haven't I done enough for you lately?"
I looked at his self-righteous expression and almost laughed.
Three years of marriage, and he had never shown me an ounce of warmth.
Yet because Zara had tossed out a few hollow words about wanting us to get along, he'd graced me with a rare stretch of civility.
Zara and I shared the same birthday. He would spend the day celebrating with her first, then bring home whatever was left of their cake and toss it my way.
He picked me up from work every day, but only because it gave him an excuse to catch a glimpse of Zara at the front desk.
When I was sick with a fever, he did stay by my side all night. His eyes never left his phone, though. He didn't even notice when I collapsed on the bathroom floor.
My silence made Morton think I was reflecting on my behavior.
His tone turned condescending, as if he were bestowing a favor.
"Go apologize to Zara tomorrow, and I'll let the whole thing go."
"As long as you behave yourself, I promise I'll treat you better from now on."
Before, I might have caved. I might have swallowed my pride and apologized, all because I loved him.
But now, I couldn't even stand to look at him.
The next evening after work, Morton sent me a text telling me to meet him at the restaurant across the street.
My first instinct was to refuse. Then I thought better of it. It was time to have a real conversation about the divorce.
I walked into the private dining room and found Morton and Zara sitting side by side at the table, chatting like old friends.
I turned to leave.
Zara rushed over and blocked my path. "Viola, if the sight of me bothers you that much, I'll go..."
The words sounded generous enough, but she made no move to leave.
Morton slammed his chopsticks down. "I told you to come here and apologize to Zara, not to throw a tantrum!"
Zara softened her voice, playing peacemaker. "It's fine if I'm the one who gets hurt. All that matters is that you two are happy together."
I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to provoke me so my outburst would make her look like the reasonable one.
This time, she was going to be disappointed.
I spoke casually, almost lazily. "Well, if I'm going to apologize, just saying the words doesn't feel sincere enough."
"So as a gesture of goodwill, I'll give you Morton."
A flicker of surprise crossed Zara's eyes, quickly swallowed by barely concealed delight.
Morton shot to his feet, slamming his palm on the table. "Viola, what the hell are you talking about?"
I held his gaze, every syllable crisp and deliberate.
"I mean it."
"Morton, I don't want you anymore."
I moved out of the house.
Money wasn't an issue. I owned several luxury properties across the city.
I hung up on Morton's ninety-ninth call. His messages flooded in immediately.
"Haven't you thrown enough of a fit? My patience has a limit!"
"Viola, if you don't come back, we're really done!"
"Viola, where are you? Come home. Let's talk."
Now he wanted to talk? Too late.
I didn't bother replying. I blocked his number.
That night, I stayed late at the office.
When I finally headed down to the parking garage to get my car, I heard a commotion nearby and looked over instinctively.
It was Zara, struggling with a strange man.
He was rough, dragging her toward a utility closet.
I despised Zara. But I couldn't stand by and watch this happen.
I strode over, held up my phone, and shouted, "Stop! I've already called the police!"
The color drained from the man's face. He bolted.
