A Roaring Outburst
He recoiled as if scalded, whirling to glare at me with a ferocity I'd rarely seen. "Shut up!" he bellowed louder than my plea. "You're doing this again!" I pointed at Bella, hand trembling with rage. "How many times do I have to say it? What will Janet think? The neighbors are watching!" "Mind your own damn business!" he roared back, veins bulging in his neck. "I'll do what I please! Who are you to lecture me?!"
The Slam of a Door
With one final icy glare, he stormed inside, slamming the back door with a deafening crash. I froze, ears ringing, heart pounding violently. Startled by the noise, Bella whimpered and fled to Janet's yard. Alone in the silence, that jarring slam echoed in my mind. That look in his eyes... those words... This wasn't Tom.
A Home Turned Ice
For days afterward, our home descended into a deep freeze. Tom barely spoke to me—grabbing breakfast silently before tossing dishes in the sink and leaving for work. Evenings meant hiding in the garage with his vintage car or clattering away at computer games. If I dared ask "What's for dinner?" or "Did you bring in the laundry?" he'd grunt "Yeah" or "Nope" without meeting my eyes—treating me like thin air.
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He recoiled as if scalded, whirling to glare at me with a ferocity I'd rarely seen. "Shut up!" he bellowed louder than my plea. "You're doing this again!" I pointed at Bella, hand trembling with rage. "How many times do I have to say it? What will Janet think? The neighbors are watching!" "Mind your own damn business!" he roared back, veins bulging in his neck. "I'll do what I please! Who are you to lecture me?!"
The Slam of a Door
With one final icy glare, he stormed inside, slamming the back door with a deafening crash. I froze, ears ringing, heart pounding violently. Startled by the noise, Bella whimpered and fled to Janet's yard. Alone in the silence, that jarring slam echoed in my mind. That look in his eyes... those words... This wasn't Tom.
A Home Turned Ice
For days afterward, our home descended into a deep freeze. Tom barely spoke to me—grabbing breakfast silently before tossing dishes in the sink and leaving for work. Evenings meant hiding in the garage with his vintage car or clattering away at computer games. If I dared ask "What's for dinner?" or "Did you bring in the laundry?" he'd grunt "Yeah" or "Nope" without meeting my eyes—treating me like thin air.
NEXT >>
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