He looked away.
“You.”
“Her.”
“Which wife gets Monday through Thursday?”
“Maya, stop.”
“No.”
“Which one?”
He slammed one hand against the dashboard.
“Stop!”
I went completely still.
So did he.
He immediately lowered his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
I picked up the ring.
Then threw it against his chest.
It bounced into his lap.
“Get out of my car.”
“Maya.”
“Get out.”
“Please.”
“I said get out.”
His face collapsed.
Then he stepped out.
I locked the door.
Pulled away.
He stood in the garage holding the ring.
I did not look back again.
