Last Night’s Glowing Skies

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband abandoned me on a rain-drenched street corner in the middle of a torrential downpour. He had more important things to do, like watching the anniversary fireworks with his first love.

When I called to confront him, his voice carried nothing but cold irritation. Instead of an apology, he sent me a link to a ninety-nine-cent trial service.

"Glinda, get a grip on reality," his text read. "If my parents hadn't insisted on marrying a quiet, easily managed doormat, do you honestly think a girl with a fishmonger father would ever set foot in the Goldblum…