I stood there, feeling the tension in the room rise as if we were in the climax of a poorly written-thriller. His voice, always so melodious, thundered through the air, caressing my eardrums. I swallowed hard, my throat as dry as a desert in a drought.

"Why?" I managed to croak out, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Close the door," he commanded again, with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

My hand trembled as I reached for the door, nudging it shut with a reluctant ...