Small things – such as the unwashed dishes on the counter, or the dirty undergarments thrown on her side of the bed – irritated him. He would look around the house, noticing each and every single thing left unfinished, undone, until he would nearly burst a vein in frustration. It seemed he couldn’t go anywhere without a reminder of how horrid the house was. How could she have left it in such a state? How could she insist on torturing him like this?
He clenched his teeth as he piled the smelly clothes in a hamper and did the laundry himself. He growled as the floors were swept with his own more efficient garage broom. The vein in his temple throbbed mercilessly as the bathrooms were cleaned, the rugs vacuumed, and the furniture finally dusted.
But as he gathered the dishes for washing and began to scrub them with more force than was necessary, a single, slim wineglass caught his eye. He needed only one glance at its rim, before he dissolved into wrenching sobs.
There, upon the glass, was her lipstick.