It’s been one of those frustrating days. As the evening grew colder, my husband offered to build a fire in the fireplace. However, his tone quickly shifted when he couldn’t find the lighter. “Where is the lighter?” he asked in an accusatory voice.
I calmly explained that I hadn’t moved it from where I’d last placed it—on the fireplace. He countered by insisting I must have used it when I made a fire in my small firepit outside. I pointed out that I’d done that prior to his last visit and hadn’t touched the lighter since. To appease me, he asked the boys if they had seen it. Sure enough, his son retrieved it from his bedroom.
Apparently, he’d been using it to light incense in his room—at least, that’s what he claimed. The fact that he hadn’t asked to borrow the lighter didn’t surprise me; he knew I’d say no because I don’t allow fires in the house. I couldn’t help but think about when he was 12 and started a fire in his father’s house upstairs in the bathroom. His history made me uneasy.
I decided then and there that I wanted to keep the lighter in my bedroom from now on. I told my husband that I wasn’t comfortable having it within easy reach of his son. Although he’s 16 now and capable of getting lighters himself, I didn’t want to make it so readily available, especially with his track record.
My husband disagreed, insisting the lighter should stay on the fireplace. I tried to explain my reasoning, but he cut me off, threw the lighter at me, and demanded to know why my opinion mattered more than his. When I tried to further clarify my concerns, he stopped me, irritated, and asked me why I was going on and on.
Just another day in the life of being his wife.