Flowers for Her, Divorce for Him

In three years of marriage, my mate had never brought me flowers. Even on the night of the winter moon, when every wolf in our pack seemed to have a gift for someone, Morris Matthews came home from the pack clinic, ate the dinner I’d kept warm, and went to bed.

“You married the pack physician,” my friends told me. “He’s respected. He comes home every night. You know he’d never stray. What more do you want?”

For a while, I managed to believe them.

Then, on my birthday, I walked past the best restaurant in town and saw Morris through the window.