“Enough, ladies.” My voice is low, the strain from their bickering and the barely audible ticking stretching my nerves until they’re almost ready to snap. Curling my fingers over the edge of the wooden bench, I can feel the old material splinter beneath my grip, anger a red-hot tidal wave crashing along my insides. “I appreciate your concern, because I know it comes from a good place,” I say, focusing on breathing evenly. “But do not ever speak of my wife and her former fiancé, unless it’s to say what a good pair we make in comparison. I don’t want his name associated with hers ever again.”
