Leaving The Repairman And My Wife Alone Was The Most Regretful Decision I Have Ever Made-3
The Weight of the Day
At the office, the leak, Emma’s red eyes, and the slammed door haunted me. Endless project meetings, a barrage of client revisions—I stared at the screen, feeling like a puppet. Jimmy, a colleague, asked if I was okay; I looked terrible. I forced a smile, deflecting, while Emma’s "call my dad" replayed in my head. My father-in-law’s critical face, his silent judgment—it was suffocating. I didn’t get home until nearly ten. The house was dark, save for a small nightlight in the hall. Changing shoes, I eased the bedroom door open. Emma lay facing away, breathing evenly, seemingly asleep.
The Chilly Morning
Our son slept soundly in his little bed. Watching them for a few seconds, a knot tightened in my chest. The morning’s flood was cleaned, but an aura of dampness and icy silence lingered. I slipped out, closed the door, and spent a stiff, uncomfortable night on the couch. The alarm blared harshly the next morning. Every bone ached from the sofa. Rubbing my sore neck, I entered the kitchen. Emma was already making breakfast. Towels were carefully wrapped around the pipe beneath the sink; the floor was dry. She didn’t look at me, didn’t speak, just poured coffee for our son and silently filled her own mug. The freeze persisted.
Keeping the Promise
I hurried through my morning routine, brushing my teeth while pulling up my phone. Early enough—surely the plumbers were open. I dialed the local company with the highest ratings—"Hunter & Son Plumbing," I think—and someone answered promptly. I rushed through the problem: kitchen sink pipe, old, burst, emergency replacement needed. The receptionist took our address and contact, promising a callback soon. Hanging up, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I’d followed through on one promise. Turning back toward the kitchen, I saw Emma silently spreading jam on toast.
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At the office, the leak, Emma’s red eyes, and the slammed door haunted me. Endless project meetings, a barrage of client revisions—I stared at the screen, feeling like a puppet. Jimmy, a colleague, asked if I was okay; I looked terrible. I forced a smile, deflecting, while Emma’s "call my dad" replayed in my head. My father-in-law’s critical face, his silent judgment—it was suffocating. I didn’t get home until nearly ten. The house was dark, save for a small nightlight in the hall. Changing shoes, I eased the bedroom door open. Emma lay facing away, breathing evenly, seemingly asleep.
The Chilly Morning
Our son slept soundly in his little bed. Watching them for a few seconds, a knot tightened in my chest. The morning’s flood was cleaned, but an aura of dampness and icy silence lingered. I slipped out, closed the door, and spent a stiff, uncomfortable night on the couch. The alarm blared harshly the next morning. Every bone ached from the sofa. Rubbing my sore neck, I entered the kitchen. Emma was already making breakfast. Towels were carefully wrapped around the pipe beneath the sink; the floor was dry. She didn’t look at me, didn’t speak, just poured coffee for our son and silently filled her own mug. The freeze persisted.
Keeping the Promise
I hurried through my morning routine, brushing my teeth while pulling up my phone. Early enough—surely the plumbers were open. I dialed the local company with the highest ratings—"Hunter & Son Plumbing," I think—and someone answered promptly. I rushed through the problem: kitchen sink pipe, old, burst, emergency replacement needed. The receptionist took our address and contact, promising a callback soon. Hanging up, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I’d followed through on one promise. Turning back toward the kitchen, I saw Emma silently spreading jam on toast.
NEXT >>