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Grabbing the ice, she dragged me back over to the couch. “You can sleep here tonight.”
“On the couch?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your husband,” I argued.
“Yes, but you’re not a very good one.”
“You just slammed my thumb in your door repeatedly, and I’m the bad spouse?”
She stood from the couch, tossing a throw blanket to me, smacking me in the face. I let it fall to my lap as she stared at me. “Maybe sleeping on the couch will help you figure out why I’m pissed.”
“You could just tell me.”
“Yes, but how could I be sure you’re paying attention?”
And with that, she turned from me and walked back to her bedroom, closing the door on me. I leaned back against the couch and sighed. Married life sucked and anyone who said differently was lying.
