Divorcing My Cheating Wife From Golden Boy to Millionaire

Three years into our marriage, my wife grew sick of me.

It took her only three years to stop seeing me as her bright, warm golden retriever and start treating me like an unhinged, rabid stray.

When she hurled her designer bag right at my face again, the cold metal zipper slashed the outer corner of my eye.

I suddenly burst out laughing. Looking right at her, I said,

"That's it, Wendy. I'm done. I want a divorce."

She froze. It took her a long moment to scoff coldly and brush it off:

"Whatever. Suit yourself."