My husband has a bad habit of leaving the door unlocked. We could be axed to bits, I say. My husband laughs and tells me I’m overreacting. What about Tommy? I ask. Think of our son. Don’t worry, my husband says, we’re safe. He’s tied up tight out there. I shift my weight from foot to foot and look outside the window. The shed door shudders in the breeze, hitting the frame with a gentle bang.
My husband has a bad habit of leaving the door unlocked.