Chapter 1

My husband's little "bestie" just posted a photo on Instagram.

"It is just a tiny scratch, but he refuses to let me touch water."

The picture showed my husband, Quinton Pierce, hand-washing her lace lingerie.

Someone commented below, "I'm so jealous! Where can I find a man this good?"

She replied, "He was a gift from the universe!"

I added my own comment: "Then let him wash your clothes for the rest of your lives."

The post was deleted instantly. Seconds later, a voice note from Quinton popped up.

"We are just friends and I was helping her out. Can you stop being so childish?"

I just smiled.

When he finally saw who was standing by my side, he was the one who became childish.

1.

Quinton walked through the door just as I finished my skincare routine.

He was scowling. "Sienna, Lilah has been crying for an hour because of you. Are you happy now?"

"She was just sharing her life on social media. Why do you have to be so petty?"

I looked him in the eye. "I was just giving her my sincere blessings. Why is she the one crying? I knew girls were made of sugar and spice, but I didn't know she was made of so much drama."

Quinton froze. It was the first time I had ever talked back like that.

He turned red with rage and started shouting.

"Sienna, what is with this attitude! I was just helping a friend and you are making a federal case out of it! How are we supposed to live like this?"

"If you can't handle Lilah, then maybe we should just get a divorce."

He stood there with his head held high. He was waiting for me to cry and beg for his forgiveness like I always did.

The "help" Quinton mentioned involved him washing Lilah's intimate clothes.

Earlier that day, we were supposed to go on a date. As soon as we stepped out, Lilah called.

"Quinton, my hand is bleeding so much! It hurts! I don't have any antiseptic. What if it gets infected...?"

Quinton hung up and left me standing on the sidewalk in the hundred-degree heat.

I waited thirty minutes before I could even get an Uber home.

I waited until evening, but Quinton never sent a single text.

I was so hungry I felt dizzy. I called him several times, but he never picked up.

Ever since Lilah moved to our city two years ago, him ignoring me had become a daily routine.

I had just ordered takeout when my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification.

My "Close Friend" had posted a new update.

It was a photo of Quinton, the man who never lifted a finger at home, scrubbing Lilah's bras.

Their mutual friends were teasing them in the comments, asking when they'd finally get together. Lilah replied to all of them: "Soon, soon."

I left my comment, and the post vanished.

Quinton saw that I was silent and assumed I was too heartbroken to speak.

He sneered at me. "If you don't want a divorce, call Lilah and apologize. Otherwise, don't expect me to forgive you."

He pulled out his phone, ready to dial her number.

"Fine. Let's divorce."

I looked at him, my expression completely flat.

"What did you say?" Quinton gasped.

Lilah's voice came through the phone saying "Quinton?" but he hung up on her immediately.

"I said, let's get a divorce!" I repeated calmly.

Quinton let out a mocking laugh. "Sienna, since when did you learn to play hard to get? You? Divorcing me?"

"I'm not playing games."

He still didn't believe me. He was about to say something when both our phones rang at the same time.

"Quinton..."

"I'm downstairs..."