About earlier tonight.

I lost my temper, and that was wrong of me.”

He looked down at his leather dress shoes, then back up at my face, stepping into the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

“Work has been an absolute pressure cooker this month,” he said, his voice quiet and low.

“The regional restructuring is hanging over my head, and I came through the door already wound tight.

I felt terrible about raising my hand.