"Support!" she screamed, and the baby's crying got even louder, like he was trying to match her energy. "I'm your wife. This is your home. You can't just pretend I don't exist."
"Jake," I said, keeping my voice calm. "Go upstairs and play in your room for a while, okay, buddy?" He scrambled out of there like his pants were on fire, which was probably the smartest thing anyone had done in our house all week. Once he was gone, I turned back to Melissa and let her have it.
All the anger I'd been swallowing for months. All the resentment I'd been choking down. All the hurt I'd been pretending didn't exist. It all came pouring out.
"Let me tell you what I owe you," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "I owe you absolutely nothing. You want to know why? Because you're not my wife anymore."
"Not in any way that matters." Her face went pale, but I wasn't done. "You chose to get pregnant by another man. You chose to carry your boss's baby."
"You chose his needs over our marriage, his wants over our family, his happiness over everything we built together. So no, Melissa, I don't owe you support. I don't owe you help. I don't owe you a goddamn thing."
"It's not like that," she protested. But her voice was weaker now, like she was starting to realize how deep the hole she'd dug really was. "It's exactly like that," I shot back. "You want to play house with Charles Whitmore's baby? Fine."
"But don't expect me to be your backup husband when the real parents can't be bothered to show up." That's when she really lost it. The baby was screaming. She was screaming.
And I was standing there watching my marriage finally die its long-overdue death. "You're abandoning me?" she shrieked like somehow I was the villain in this story. "How can you be so cruel?" "I'm not abandoning you," I said, grabbing my keys from the counter because I needed to get out of there before I said something I'd actually regret.