He was the only one home, so I let him know I was going out for a walk. Something didn’t sit right, so I didn’t stay out long.
Good job, idiot.
He had spraypainted it on the glass doors leading out to the patio, for me. Sloppy blue letters. Underlined “idiot.”
Everybody was home now. Moving along like day-to-day, not acknowledging the large message projecting into the living room, ignoring his reaction to my apparently small sin: I had accidentally locked the door. I had accidentally locked the door and left for 20 minutes.
Idiot.
The art of spilling over 