She Played the Housewife , Until She Found Out What He Was Drinking

My husband was allergic to dairy—couldn't go near anything with milk in it.

Our first year of marriage, I made him a milk pudding by mistake. He lost it. Asked me if I was trying to kill him.

After that, not a single dairy product ever crossed our threshold again.

Then tonight, at his promotion banquet, he took a full glass of milk from his assistant's hand and drank every drop.

I wasn't surprised. I turned and set a divorce agreement in front of him.

Every friend and relative at the table rounded on me at once.

Morton grabbed the glass and flung the milk straight into my face.

"Lottie noticed I'd been drinking too much and poured me a glass of milk for my stomach—out of kindness—and you lose your mind over that?"

"She's married, Paula. She has a child. You're really going to sit here and act jealous of a married woman?"

I let out a quiet laugh, turned, poured another glass of milk, and placed it in front of him.

"Since you love it so much—go on. Drink up."

……

Morton's eyes dropped to the glass in my hand. His jaw tightened. Then he slapped it out of my grip, and it shattered across the floor.

"I drink at those dinners for work—for *you*—so you can have a better life. You don't give a damn about that, but the second I have one glass of milk to settle my stomach, you're waving divorce papers in front of everyone?"

Murmurs rippled down the table. Heads shook. Someone near the back muttered loud enough for me to hear.

"We all know how hard Morton works. He drinks himself into stomach bleeds at business dinners just to provide for Paula. And this is how she repays him?"

"Morton's famous for how good he is to his wife. I heard he specifically hired a married assistant with a kid so Paula wouldn't have anything to worry about."

Lottie Galloway stepped forward, eyes glistening with practiced hurt.

"Paula, I'm married. My baby is a year old. How can you still be jealous of me?"

"I just saw his stomach was bothering him and poured him some milk to help. If that upsets you, I won't do it again. That's all."

I raised my hand and wiped the milk from my face. The sour-sweet smell punched into my nose, and my stomach rolled.

I slapped the divorce papers flat on the table.

"Once we're divorced, you can pour him milk any way you want. It'll be none of my business."

When Morton saw I meant it, he snatched the papers from my hands, ripped them down the middle, and threw the halves on the floor, his face dark with fury.

"I'm not agreeing to a divorce. This is all because I drank a glass of milk Lottie poured? Fine—I won't touch anything she gives me ever again. Happy now?"

"Today is my promotion banquet. Do you have to keep going until you've wrecked it for everyone?"

Vivian Henson walked over and gave my shoulder a little pat, the way you'd comfort a child throwing a tantrum.

"Paula, sweetie—you're a housewife. You need to know when enough is enough. If you actually go through with this, you'll never find another man half as good as my brother. Not if you searched for the rest of your life."

My mother-in-law fixed me with a cold glare.

"You've been married to Morton for three years. He won't even let you set foot in the kitchen. Every morning he gets up early to cook your breakfast before work. Every night he comes straight home and makes you three dishes and a soup. He won't even let you wash a single pair of his socks."

"You're his wife, and while he's out there wrecking his health for his career at those dinner tables, you don't bat an eye. But the second his assistant pours him one glass of milk, you throw a fit about divorce? Are you even human?"

Her words landed, and I felt every gaze in the room settle on me like a weight—open, undisguised contempt.

I looked down at the milk stains still drying on my clothes, and the backs of my eyes burned.

In everyone's mind, landing Morton Henson was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to me. The man every wife wished she'd married.