Fired By My Toxic Wife Today

I had been running on fumes for days. After a grueling string of all-nighters, pulling double shifts to secure a make-or-break account for my wife’s agency, my one saving grace was that today was Saturday.

Before my head hit the pillow last night, I had made it perfectly clear to the house: I needed to sleep. Just one solid, uninterrupted block of unconsciousness.

But the sun had barely crested the horizon when my bedroom door swung open. It was Frank, my father-in-law, his voice booming as if we were across a football field, telling me it was time for breakfast.