She Called It Treatment
I'd just put the condom on when someone started pounding on the door.
My wife, Jocelyn Gill, shoved me aside, panic all over her face.
I shot a glare at the door.
Her adopted brother, Calvin Tyler, stood there, flushed, staring at her. The bulge in his pants wasn't subtle.
"Jocelyn, please help me. I feel awful. I think I'm having an episode!"
Seeing him like that, nothing like before, my temper snapped.
"Then go get treated. Why are you barging into your sister's room? You got no shame? You can't even get married because of this, so now you're wrecking mine?"
Jocelyn rushed over and slapped me.
"Finley, how can you say that? Calvin's still a kid. How could he think something that disgusting? Before his parents died, they asked me to take care of him. I'm a psychiatrist—if I don't treat him, how do I face them? You're acting nothing like a brother-in-law. Apologize to Calvin right now, or we're getting divorced!"
In two years of marriage, I'd lost count of how many times she'd pulled that card over Calvin.
Back then, I'd risked my life just to win her.
She thought I'd never leave.
She was wrong.
This time, I was done loving her.