Mmm, groaning I tugged the pillow over my head. Pots and pans clattered on my glass stovetop. Brad was drunk—again. Glancing at the alien green numbers, I verified that I needed to work in four hours. Trudging out to the kitchen, I planned to ask why he stole a thousand dollars meant for the kids’ preschool tuition. Anger seethed within me, as I stumbled toward the kitchen. I didn’t want him to wake the children.
“What are you doing?” I rubbed my eyes, as the bright light burned my retinas.
“I’m fucking cooking, bitch! What does it look like?”
I noticed he was cooking the sausage I’d left to thaw in the refrigerator for tomorrow’s dinner. “That was for tomorrow,” I whined and clenched my jaw.
“Well, you can have what’s left tomorrow!” he boomed.
“Brad, seriously. It’s midnight.”
“I pay for this food.” He slammed the pan down.
“You are going to wake the kids.” I rushed over and received a slap across the face for my efforts to quiet him. The sting registered a moment afterward, as it always did. “Why did you take the money? How am I going to pay for the kids’ school now?” I mumbled, walking away.
“I don’t care. I needed it.”
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