Richard’s eyelids twitched in annoyance at my thinly veiled jab, and I knew from months of experience that he didn't like it when I subtly called out his shortcomings or mistakes.
His face flushed an ugly shade of red, and a vein pulsed at his temple.
"You're only good at complaining and nagging, my God," he spat, slamming his briefcase down on the kitchen table. "Your shrill, whiny voice alone gives me a pounding headache. I don't know how I've put up with you and your mindless griping all these months. Sometimes, I think I should have listened to my mother and never married you in the first place."
He pulled a chair from the kitchen table roughly and sat down heavily. The wood groaned in protest under his weight.
He sat there expectantly, like a scolded child waiting to be served,
