It was over, she knew, when she stumbled upon the half-empty packet. “Why only half? Why not the whole nine yards?” she thought.
What was galling, what really hurt, was he’d kept it from her; a secret life tucked away in a shoe box in his wardrobe.
She felt betrayed; humiliated; belittled.
Her anger bounced off the bedsit walls, rattling wine glasses, as she wailed “How could the bastard have started smoking again?”