Before I could say a word, he was already out the door with her.
I stood in the living room like I was surveying the aftermath of a disaster.
Images flashed through my mind: me crouched on the kitchen floor, scrubbing the dining room, wiping down every corner of this house on my hands and knees.
Something inside me snapped.
I sat down on the couch and waited for Nigel to come back.
The lock clicked. Then came his voice, already at a roar.
"Lorraine, you didn't touch a single thing?"
"Don't tell me you were sitting here waiting for me to clean up after—"
"Nigel, I want a divorce."
Seven words. That was all it took to kill the fire in his throat.
The living room went dead silent.
After a beat, Nigel laughed.
"Lorraine, you're thirty years old. You're not some eighteen-year-old girl anymore."
"Throwing around breakups over a bad mood was fine when we were dating. Marriage is a different game."
"You can't treat this like it's nothing. There's a baby in that room who isn't even a year old, still waiting for you to nurse him and put him to sleep."
He pointed at the bedroom door, the corner of his mouth curling with something close to contempt.
I looked up at the man standing over me.