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In our house, every morning began with a complaint, and every evening ended with a rant. He had a way of making me feel like a failure, even when I was doing my best to make things right.
A miserable woman | Source: Pexels
His favorite insult came out whenever the laundry wasn’t folded or dinner wasn’t hot enough.
“Other women work and raise children. What about you? You can’t even keep my lucky shirt clean,” he complained, and I tried to meet his needs.
That shirt. I’ll never forget that damned white shirt with the navy trim. He called it his « lucky shirt, » as if it were some sacred relic. I’d washed it a dozen times before, but if it didn’t hang exactly where he expected it to, I was suddenly useless.
A white shirt | Source: Freepik
It was a Tuesday morning that everything changed.
