“Jason,” I said, “it’s starting to freeze out there. Can you please shovel and put down salt before we go to bed? I don’t want to slip.”
He didn’t even glance up from his phone.
“I’ll get to it later,” he said.
“You already said that an hour ago.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, like I was asking for the impossible. “You’re overreacting. It’s just a few steps. I said I’ll do it. Stop nagging.”
I went to bed upset and uneasy, lying awake and waiting to hear the door open.
It never did.
The next morning, I was already running behind for work. I’m right-handed, so I had my bag and coffee in my right hand while struggling with the lock using my left.
I opened the door, stepped onto the top stair—and my foot landed straight on ice.
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