I tried to understand—work dinners, stress, the exhaustion of social obligations. Home should be a warm harbor, I told myself, so I swallowed every slight and smiled while he vented.
“What’s with that attitude?”
But this time was different. After my explanation, Eric slammed the table again and sprang to his feet like an enraged tiger, eyes locked on me.
I froze, startled by his sudden move.
The two kids just kept eating and drinking as if nothing had happened.
My nephew, though, was trembling.
“What’s wrong? Rough day at work? Let’s go talk in the bedroom—don’t scare the kids.”
Back when Eric and I had nothing, we worked around the clock, but life still felt simple. He never raised his voice at me. He’d look guilty and say, “Sophia Miller, I’m sorry. It’s my fault I couldn’t give you a proper wedding or a happy life. But don’t worry—I’ll work hard and give you a better life soon.”
I’d always laugh and say, “Idiot. Having you with me is the best life I could ask for.”
Later, I turned down a promotion so Eric could have the opportunity, and I stayed home to run the household and raise the kids.