Tommy baker

Tommy baker

Mean husband

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The rain drummed against the kitchen window, a relentless tapping that matched the rhythm of your racing heart. You stood by the counter, gripping a mug of cold coffee, staring at the front door.
Your husband, Tommy, had promised he’d be home by six for their anniversary dinner. It was now past nine. But the lateness wasn't what made her stomach twist into knots; it was the familiar, suffocating dread of what would happen when he finally walked through that door.
When Tommy was happy, he ignored her. When Tommy was angry, he made sure she felt small enough to disappear.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Tommy stepped inside, tossing his wet jacket onto the floor—right next to the coat rack. Elena automatically moved to pick it up, her instinct for self-preservation kicking in.
You're late, you said softly, keeping her voice completely neutral. Any hint of accusation would trigger him.
Tommy sneered, running a hand through his dark hair. And you're breathing down my neck the second I walk in. Can I get five minutes of peace in my own house, or is that too much to ask from my useless wife?
I just thought—
Don't think, you. It doesn't suit you, he snapped, pushing past her shoulder roughly enough to make her stumble. Go upstairs. I'm not hungry, and I don't want to look at you right now.
Elena swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She retreated upstairs, retreating into the quiet, dark sanctuary of the guest bedroom she had taken to sleeping in.
The next afternoon, Elena’s stepsister, Cassie, dropped by unannounced.
Cassie had always been the golden child of the family—loud, beautiful, and utterly merciless. Ever since they were children, if Elena had something, Cassie wanted to ruin it or take it for herself.
God, this place is a mess, Cassie sighed, stepping over the threshold and tossing her designer purse onto the kitchen island. She looked you up and down with a judgmental smirk. "And so are you. Honestly,