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.

Three years of marriage, and he'd handled nearly every chore, kept me sheltered like a hothouse flower—and the whole time, this so-called perfect husband was making my life a joke.

My gaze hardened. I pulled up the divorce appointment on my phone and sent it to Morton.

"Whether you agree or not, I'm ending this marriage."

"Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock, the courthouse. Show up, or I file for divorce through the courts."

Morton froze for a beat, then softened his voice and reached for my hand, coaxing me the way you'd calm a child mid-tantrum.

"Come on, I know you're just jealous—you want me to prove I care. I promise, from now on I won't drink anything anyone else pours for me. Only yours. Okay?"

My stomach turned. I pulled my hand free, turned around, poured a glass of milk, and set it down in front of him.

"Then drink this."

Morton looked at the glass. His expression went dark in an instant.

"You know I'm allergic to milk. And you're going to force this on me today?"

"Paula, when did you become so unreasonable?"

I looked at him and laughed, cold and sharp.

"Oh, so now you remember you're allergic? Then why did you drink the milk Lottie poured you just now without a single reaction?"

"Or can you drink hers just fine—and only mine makes you 'allergic'?"

His fists clenched at his sides, veins rising along his knuckles.

He was about to erupt when Lottie stepped forward and picked up the glass.

"Paula, this is all my fault. Let me drink it for Morton as an apology. Please don't make things harder for him, okay?"

"Morton Henson is still my husband. Who are you to him? Nobody asked you to drink on his behalf."

The performance on Lottie's face—that soft, wounded concern that wasn't hers to wear—made my skin crawl. I snatched the glass from her hand and poured it over her head.

Milk streaked down her hair, her forehead, the front of her dress. Someone behind me sucked in a breath.

"You're out here feeding someone else's husband your milk—does your own husband know? Does your child?"

Morton watched the milk drip from Lottie's face and shoved me so hard my heel caught and I stumbled sideways. He pulled Lottie into his arms.

"I've been too good to you. That's why you think you can do whatever you want."

"You want a divorce? Fine. But you leave this marriage with nothing."

So there it was. Finally.

He looked utterly certain I wouldn't dare actually leave him. After all, I'd been his caged bird for three years.

I let out a low, cold laugh.

"I'm not the one who did anything wrong. Why should I be the one leaving with nothing?"

"The one who should walk away empty-handed is you."

Laughter rippled through the room before the last word had left my mouth.

"Everyone knows you've been nothing but a housewife since you married Morton. He's the one who's supported you this whole time. And you actually have the nerve to say he should leave with nothing? Have you no shame?"

"All this over a glass of milk. Demanding your husband leave the marriage with nothing. You've lost your mind."

Anna Henson was so furious she marched straight up and slapped me across the face.

"Without my son, you're nothing but damaged goods. Let's see who'd ever want a woman as hysterical as you!"

I pressed my hand to my stinging, swelling cheek and was about to speak when Morton grabbed his mother's arm.

"Mom, stop. Paula is still your daughter-in-law. She's just angry right now, that's why she's making a scene about divorce. Once she calms down, she'll come back to me on her own."

Heads nodded around the room. Someone murmured what a good man he was. Someone else clucked about how ungrateful I was, how I didn't know a blessing when I had one. Morton stood there with Lottie still tucked against his side, wearing the patient, long-suffering expression of a saint—and every pair of eyes in that room looked at me like I was the villain.

"Look at you—causing all this drama, and Morton still took your side. Keep pushing, and you're just proving you don't deserve it."

Everyone expected me to fold after that. Accept the scolding, swallow the humiliation, fall back in line.

I didn't.

My gaze cut past Morton to Lottie, standing right behind him.

"Then I don't deserve it. This divorce is happening."

Morton stared at me, eyes rimmed red with fury.

"Paula, is there someone else? Is that why you're so hell-bent on divorcing me?"

I was done talking. I turned to leave, but Morton seized my wrist and wouldn't let go.

"Who is he? Tell me his name—just say it, and I'll give you one more chance!"

Lottie stepped in right on cue, voice soft, eyes all concern.

"Paula, Morton works so hard, and you're home by yourself all day—of course it gets lonely. He's giving you a chance here. Just tell us. Is there someone else? Is that what this is really about?"

As she spoke, her chest rose and fell, and I noticed a damp stain spreading across the front of her blouse. It hit me like a slap.

I slapped her across the face.

"Don't you dare put this on me. You know exactly why we're getting divorced."

Lottie clutched her cheek and crumpled straight into Morton's arms.

"Manager Henson, I was only trying to talk some sense into her! I don't understand why she has so much hostility toward me, a woman who's already had a child!"

Morton pulled Lottie tight against him, glaring at me with open fury.

"Paula, since you want this divorce so badly, we'll settle it in court!"

A thread of tension inside me loosened the moment I heard him agree.

I turned and walked away without looking back. Not a trace of hesitation.

The moment I stepped out of the banquet hall, I saw the door to the nursing room across the corridor standing wide open.

A breast pump sat on the counter, not even put away.

My stomach lurched. I grabbed the nearest trash can and threw up.

By the time I made it out of the hotel, my phone was buzzing.

A text from Tim, my private assistant.

[Ms. Sullivan, lab results on that glass of milk just came back. Report's in your inbox.]

I opened it immediately. At the bottom of the report, a single line: *Result: human breast milk.*

There was nothing left in my stomach, but my body still convulsed with dry heaves.

I wiped my mouth and called Tim.

"Compile everything. Every last piece. I want Morton Henson destroyed in open court."

I hung up, glanced once at the hotel blazing behind me, and walked toward the parking area.

Ray was already blocking the car door before I could reach for the handle.

He looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

"Sorry. Manager Henson says you two are about to divorce, and this car is his personal property. You have no right to use it."

I stared past him at the mountain road, nothing but darkness in every direction, and clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms.

Morton had held his promotion banquet at Hillcrest Resort. Beautiful scenery, but the location was remote. There wasn't a rideshare to be found out here.

He'd planned this. A lesson in what happened when I didn't fall in line.

Ray watched me standing there and smirked.

"A housewife living off her husband, making a scene over a glass of milk and demanding a divorce. I'd love to see how long you last without Manager Henson."

I didn't look at him. I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached, and I walked down that dark mountain road alone.