A Morning of Tension
The slamming of our bedroom door echoed through the small house like a clap of thunder, jolting me from sleep. I barely had time to register the noise before I felt the cold air sweep across my body as my husband yanked the blanket away. My heart raced as I blinked against the gray winter light filtering through the blinds. I was still tangled in dreams, the edges of slumber clinging to my mind like the heavy drapes around the window.
“Get up,” he barked, his voice rough, a jagged line drawn across the calm of morning. I could see his silhouette, tense and furious. “You think you can disrespect my mother and then sleep like nothing happened?”
I pushed myself up against the headboard, disoriented, instinctively wrapping my arms around my knees. “What? It’s barely morning.”
“It’s noon somewhere,” he snapped, his expression a mixture of frustration and anger. “We have an appointment.”
“An appointment?” I repeated, my voice still thick with sleep. “I’m not getting up for her.”
“I told you last night,” he continued, pacing the room as if he could walk away from the storm brewing between us. “She needs help.”
“Your mother asked for eight thousand dollars.”
“It’s a short-term loan.”
