Page 9 of His Vengeful Tradwife

"I don't want my car to smell like shit," Amanda complained, as I ripped pages out of her car's instructional manual and tried to wipe Emmylou's legs off.

"Are you proposing to leave us here then?" I asked coldly.

She didn't respond.

"Are you proposing to leave us here then?" I shot at her, and she frowned at me.

“No, of course not.”

Great, I was only a few days into my newfound freedom and already fighting with Amanda.

Finally, I just put Emmylou in her carseat, cringing at the fact that I'd have to take the cover all the way off and wash the whole thing later.

We drove home in silence, only punctuated by the regular requests for McDonald's.

"Just give them fucking McDonald's," Amanda hissed at me.

Irritation sizzled through me, and I felt frazzled as fuck.

“Tallulah doesn’t let them eat in the car,” I said.

“Well, she’s not here now, is she?” Amanda bit out through gritted teeth. “You can do what you want.”

I wanted to salvage the afternoon, so we pulled over and I ordered three Happy Meals with cheeseburgers.

"I'm not sure what went wrong," I said in a low voice when Amanda had turned back onto the highway. "When Tallulah and I took the kids out, it was always quite relaxing."

Amanda shot me a frown. "I guesssomewomen are just good atmindlesstasks like this."

"You're the one who said it was easy!" I growled at her.

Then Gabriel threw up in the car.

Amanda shrieked in dismay, and I turned around to try to clean it up with more of the pages from the instructional manual.

"Gabriel gets carsick," Seraphina said, "That's why Mommy doesn't let him eat in the car."

Amanda screamed in rage. "She sabotaged me!"

"Don't be ridiculous," I snapped as Seraphina and Emmylou made loud fake vomiting sounds, too.

We drove the rest of the ride in chilly, unpleasant silence.

I thought the day couldn't possibly get any worse as I unloaded the kids from the car.

Then a huge pickup truck rolled in the driveway and my wife hopped out.

Tallulah looked cool, unpressed, turning to laugh over her shoulder at whoever was in the driver's seat. I heard the low rumble of a male voice as she ran her hands through long shiny auburn hair.

Fuck. Who the hell was she driving around with?

My wife sashayed over to where I was holding a giggling Emmylou at arm's length, trying to dig around for the outside hose with the other hand.

It seemed like she was taking a long fucking time on purpose, the way her hips swayed and that ridiculously tiny dress rode up her thighs with each step.

“What are youwearing?” I snapped at her, but she totally ignored me.

"It looks like you are having fun with Daddy," Tallulah cooed at our baby, and then she looked me up and down. Just three measuring glances,flick flick flick. I looked at myself and felt my face burning as I saw the sheer extent to which I was covered with Emmylou's blowout, poop smeared from the collar of my shirt all the way down to my knees.

---