Suffocating Silence
This deliberate ignoring was worse than any argument. The house hung heavy with quiet, broken only by his footsteps, the fridge door, or keyboard clicks—tiny needles jabbing my nerves. Across the table at meals, all I heard was chewing and my own frantic heartbeat. I longed to break the silence, to demand answers, but his stone-cold profile silenced me. Dread pooled in my chest, thick and suffocating. That unseen knot—Bella, the golden retriever—lay coiled between us. I dared not mention it, fearing his explosive temper.
A Frantic Doorbell
Nearly a week passed. Dusk was settling one evening as I chopped vegetables in the kitchen. Suddenly, the doorbell rang—urgent, relentless. "Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!" My pulse raced. Setting down the knife, I wiped my hands and glanced through the window. My heart plummeted. Beneath the streetlight stood Janet, her usually kind face taut with fury, brows knotted, lips pressed thin. One hand on her hip, the other poised to ring again.
Fury at the Door
Dread seized me instantly. I hurried to answer. Before I could speak, Janet demanded sharply, "Is Tom home?" Her voice crackled with accusation. "He... he's upstairs," I stammered under her intensity. "Janet, what's wrong? What happened?" Ignoring me, her gaze shot past my shoulder toward the stairs. Breathing heavily, she struggled to contain her rage. "Get him down here," she hissed, voice strained. "Now. We need to talk. Immediately!"
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This deliberate ignoring was worse than any argument. The house hung heavy with quiet, broken only by his footsteps, the fridge door, or keyboard clicks—tiny needles jabbing my nerves. Across the table at meals, all I heard was chewing and my own frantic heartbeat. I longed to break the silence, to demand answers, but his stone-cold profile silenced me. Dread pooled in my chest, thick and suffocating. That unseen knot—Bella, the golden retriever—lay coiled between us. I dared not mention it, fearing his explosive temper.
A Frantic Doorbell
Nearly a week passed. Dusk was settling one evening as I chopped vegetables in the kitchen. Suddenly, the doorbell rang—urgent, relentless. "Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!" My pulse raced. Setting down the knife, I wiped my hands and glanced through the window. My heart plummeted. Beneath the streetlight stood Janet, her usually kind face taut with fury, brows knotted, lips pressed thin. One hand on her hip, the other poised to ring again.
Fury at the Door
Dread seized me instantly. I hurried to answer. Before I could speak, Janet demanded sharply, "Is Tom home?" Her voice crackled with accusation. "He... he's upstairs," I stammered under her intensity. "Janet, what's wrong? What happened?" Ignoring me, her gaze shot past my shoulder toward the stairs. Breathing heavily, she struggled to contain her rage. "Get him down here," she hissed, voice strained. "Now. We need to talk. Immediately!"
NEXT >>
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