His face darkened instantly. He shot to his feet, knocking the chair over. All the tenderness vanished from his voice.
"What gives you the right to invade my privacy?"
I opened Cecily's i********: profile. Her latest post had gone up in the early hours of the morning. In the photo, Desmond lay naked on top of her, a blanket covering their lower bodies.
Watching his face drain of color, I said mockingly, "I suppose looking at this doesn't count as invading your privacy."
I kept scrolling through her posts. In a photo from a week earlier, Desmond was wearing an apron and cleaning her floor. That was the day we'd argued because he'd left our leftovers sitting out for so long that the place had filled with cockroaches.
I'd asked why he always waited until someone lost their temper before
