It probably all began far before the argument.
It might have even begun before the affair he had, no matter how brief it was. He wanted an excuse to end it, her mind cried at her. His penis only gave him the excuse he was looking for.
… The fact it was with one of her students was just the icing on the cake.
“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
She turned back to him; it was the first time she even dared to look at him since he broke the news to her that morning before her flight. And yet all she could think right then was why did he have to chase her around the house in that old raggedy bathrobe? That damn old weather worn bathrobe he bought on their honeymoon. “God, help me,” she thought to herself staring at the pleading man, “he looks like a broken bunny in that hideous thing.” Continue reading