Ten Slaps To Kill My Love
Language: en
Pregnancy had turned me into a creature of suffocating anxiety. Every single day, I would text Donald to ask if he loved me. For the first ninety-nine times, he replied with a measured, manufactured gentleness. Until the hundredth time. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with three rapid-fire texts, dripping with a venom I’d never seen from him before. [Camille, do you seriously have nothing better to do?] [The morning sickness stopped, the baby isn't torturing you anymore, so now you’ve decided to torture me?] [If you have this much free time, why don’t you look in the mirror? Your face is…