Page 36 of Cursing My Cheating Husband

Oh gods, it looked like Maddox had something he was going to say.

“But this doesn’t mean I’m not still determined to win you back. Because I am! I’ve been thinking a lot, and I was wrong. I’m so sorry that I took you for granted⁠—”

His words were coming out with such a rehearsed feeling that there was no reason to listen to them. Not that there would be any reason to listen to them even if they sounded sincere and deeply felt. I held up a hand to silence him. “Save it.” I turned to Grant. “You’re a very attractive man, and I am eager for some no-strings-attached sex, now that I’m free. Do you have any interest in having a rebound one-night stand with me?”

“Oh, that’s very flattering, but I have a girlfriend.”

“Well, isn’t that wonderful!” I turned to my now ex-husband. Mmmm, ex-husband. I loved thinking those words. “Isn’t that something, Maddox? Look at how easily he turns down sex. Because he wouldn’t want to cheat on his girlfriend. What an inspiring example of integrity and fidelity, don’t you think?”

Maddox mumbled something unintelligible.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t catch that.”

“Yes, inspiring,” he grumbled despairingly.

I turned my attention back to Grant. “It must be challenging sometimes, right? Staying faithful?”

“Oh, no, not at all! From the day we met, I knew she was the only girl for me. We’re actually taking a trip to Paris next month, and I’m going to propose.” The love was just beaming off him.

“It sounds like she’s a very lucky woman,” I said.

“Not nearly as lucky as I am.” Grant slid the divorce paperwork into his briefcase. “Well, I’ll have this filed first thing in the morning.” He shook my hand. “Congratulations, you are now a very wealthy woman.” And then he shook Maddox’s hand. “And my condolences. Best of luck rebuilding your life.” Grant chuckled a little at that. Too bad he was taken.

Grant left. Maddox stood there, dumb, angry and sad. “Can we talk?” he asked. There was that meek, placating tone again.

“Sure, we can talk about your task for tonight. I want this kitchen to be spotless by the time I wake up.”

Given the fact that the kitchen was mostly clean, with only a few dirty plates and glasses from the meal I just shared with Grant, Maddox relaxed at that. He had been bracing himself for so much worse.

Which would now come. The wine bottle was nearly full, and, smirking at him while I did so, I tipped it over, sending it spilling all over the counter and floor. The sharp smell of pinot noir filled the air as it splattered everywhere.

He looked dumbstruck as I charged to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs, which I started hurling at the cabinets, the walls, the counter. Yolk and shell sprayed everywhere, the wet smack of each impact satisfying in a way I hadn’t expected. The release of smashing things felt so good, especially using my own hands and not magic.

As he stood there dully, I kept at it, pulling every messy item out of the fridge and hurling it around me. I took particular joy in shattering all the stupid hot sauces he loved.

Watching the food and jars smash everywhere, I was taken back to when we first started dating. Not only had I handled all the housework during the entire duration of our marriage, but before we were even that serious, I had started cleaning his place whenever I went over! Before we even lived together! Before we even talked about living together! Why had I done that? Shouldn’t I have recognized his inability to clean up after himself as a sign of his immaturity, as a warning sign?

But all I thought at the time was: what a great opportunity to show this man what a wonderful wife I could be.

As I continued to smash away in a frenzy, rage consumed me completely, and I wasn’t even sure who it was at. Myself? Him? Both of us?

That question would have to wait. I was going to focus solely on the rage now, as I smashed a glass jar of pickles on the edge of the sink, the brine splashing up my arms.

I realized the fridge was now empty. Our kitchen (correction: my kitchen) had never been this filthy. Wine and truffle oil made the floor treacherously slick under my feet. Egg yolk dripped slowly down the cabinet faces. Jam and pickle brine mixed on the counter in a grotesque soup.

But I wasn’t done yet. I strode to the cabinets and began yanking open doors, pulling out wedding gifts with methodical fury. I smashed the set of plates from his aunt on the floor, one at a time. The glass cake stand from Brie’s mother exploded as I hurled it across the room.

I know Maddox would never remember what had come from where. He couldn’t tell I was only destroying things from the wedding, that anything I’d purchased after that remained untouched in the cabinets. But I knew. Every item I destroyed was a gift given to celebrate our marriage, our future together. A future he’d been actively destroying with every woman he’d fucked behind my back. It felt right to obliterate these tokens of a union that had been a lie from the start.

As I cracked the immersion blender from one of his frat buddies into pieces, I realized that finished it. Every wedding gift in this kitchen was now thoroughly pulverized.

I turned to Maddox, who was frozen and frightened. As he should be. “I’m going to wake up at seven tomorrow, and I expect to be served a perfect French vegetable omelet in a spotless kitchen.”

“But how can I make an omelet when there’s no food left? It’s after ten.”

“There are twenty-four-hour grocery stores.”

“But I don’t know how to cook French omelets!”