My Husband's Other Wives
The chicken hopped around for a moment before dropping a steaming pile of poop onto my custom-made designer couch.
Then it took off racing around the living room, scattering feathers and dust everywhere.
That was the last straw.
I pointed at the two women, my voice shaking with rage. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Get out!"
Martha Wilson showed no sign of remorse. Instead, she planted her hands on her hips, spat on the floor in my direction, and sneered. "Shut your mouth, you bitch. From now on, we're Ryan's first and second wives. And you think you can throw us out?"