Chapter 2 - The Aftermath of the Slam
|
The heavy oak door clicked shut, and for a split second, the apartment was blissfully quiet. Then, the pounding began.
Tabitha’s fists hammered against the wood like a drumroll, accompanied by the muffled shrieks of her children. I leaned my forehead against the cool surface of the door, taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart.
I walked into my home office—a sanctuary I had built from the ground up through years of grueling freelance work in graphic design and corporate marketing. My dual monitors glowed with upcoming campaign schedules and presentation drafts. Tabitha’s dismissal of my career wasn’t new; it was an echo of her mother, Lorraine, and increasingly, of Garrett himself. To them, my six-figure business was just a “cute little hobby” because I wore yoga pants in my living room instead of a blazer in a cubicle.
My phone buzzed furiously on the desk. It was Garrett.
I let it ring, knowing exactly what was coming. The pounding at the front door finally stopped, replaced by the angry, clicking sounds of Tabitha texting, undoubtedly painting me as the villain in the family group chat.
I sat down, pulled up my morning Zoom link, and forced a professional smile as my first client of the day logged on. For the next hour, I pitched a rebranding strategy flawlessly, ignoring the fourteen missed calls piling up on my screen.
May you like
When the meeting finally ended, I stood up and walked to the kitchen to pour myself a massive cup of black coffee. As I took the first sip, I heard the deadbolt turn.
Garrett burst through the front door, his tie loosened, his face flushed a mottled, furious red. He didn't even drop his briefcase before he started shouting.
