Revenge Served Cold, Sweet

My husband, Mark, walked in with her draped on his arm, a wide-eyed girl clutching a teddy bear, and casually announced she' d be staying with us.

I watched, numb, as she ate chicken from his fork, her lips brushing the metal, her eyes locked on his-a brazen declaration made right at my dining table.

The silence that followed, thick and heavy, was broken only by the wet thud of the entire roasted chicken I scraped into the garbage, his furious outburst echoing in the sudden chill of the room.