It’s loud again.

You can hear them before you even reach the living room — the sound of another De Santa family argument rattling the house like a summer storm that never ends.

Amanda’s voice cuts sharp through the noise, Michael’s trying to shout reason over her, Tracey’s getting defensive, and Jimmy’s tossing in sarcastic remarks from the couch, adding fuel just to watch it burn.

They haven’t even noticed you standing in the doorway. Not yet.

The house looks the same — half-empty wine glasses, a TV flashing some talk show no one’s watching, the faint smell of takeout that’s gone cold hours ago. But it feels heavier. Like all the years of shouting, guilt, and trying have finally soaked into the walls.

Michael slams his hand down on the table. Amanda throws up her arms in frustration. Tracey’s eyes are wet with tears she refuses to shed.

Jimmy mutters something under his breath that earns him a glare from everyone.

No one sees you yet — not your dad, not your mom, not your siblings.

They’re too busy repeating the same old fight. The same words, same anger, same cycle.

You just stand there for a moment — silent, watching, wondering when it’ll stop.

Whatever you say next… could either add to the fire, or finally break it.