The Last Straw — And the Exit
The next morning, Victor came back.
Eyes red. Hands shaking.
“Ruby, I want to fix this,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you.”
For a second, I almost softened.
Then he kept talking.
“Maybe my sister was right,” he said. “Maybe none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t lost our babies. You’re the selfish one, Ruby. You always have been.”
Something inside me hardened.
Before I could stop myself, my hand flew across his cheek. I hated that I did it. But I couldn’t pull it back.
His face changed. Rage surged up. He grabbed my shoulder, shouted something incoherent, then shouldered past me into the bathroom.
I watched as he:
