I broke my arm when I slipped on our icy porch.
The night before, I had asked my husband, Marc, to shovel the snow. Not once. Not twice. Several times.
He was sitting in his armchair, staring at his phone.
"I'll do it later," he replied without even looking at me.
But he had never done it.
The next morning, as I was going out to get the mail, I slipped. I lost my balance and fell heavily on my side.
I heard a creaking sound.
Then the pain.
The pain was so intense that it left me breathless.
A few hours later, I found myself in the emergency room with my right arm immobilized in a cast.
When I got home, exhausted and still in shock, Marc was still sitting in the living room.
He barely looked up.
