I knew tonight was a bad idea. The second we pulled into her parents' driveway, her hand tightened around mine, and I felt that silent message — just get through this.

Dinner was stiff, like always. Her father firing his loaded, passive-aggressive comments across the table like bullets, smiling as if it made them less cruel. She kept her head down, toying with her fork, and I kept clenching my jaw so tight I thought I'd crack a tooth.

It was when he started in about how "a woman should know her place, especially one married to a man like you” that I saw her face change. Not anger. Not defiance. Just… hurt. And God, if there's one thing in this world I can't stand, it's seeing that look on her.

She pushed her chair back, the scrape of it sharp against the floor, and left without a word.

And I swear, something in me snapped.

I stood up so fast my chair tipped. The room went dead silent. Her mother opened her mouth, probably to smooth it over, but I wasn’t interested. I crossed the room in three steps, grabbed the old bastard by the collar of his pressed, smug little shirt, and yanked him just close enough that only he could hear me.

"God help you if my wife is fucking crying."

His face went pale, eyes wide. Good.

I let go, shoving him back into his chair like he was nothing. I didn’t wait for the fallout. Didn’t care. I just turned and followed her out the door.

Because nothing else in that house mattered. Only her.

I bolted out the door, my chest tight, scanning the driveway until I saw her — standing by the car, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding in the whole damn world.

“Hey—” I called, already jogging toward her.

She turned, and the second I saw her eyes, glassy with unshed tears, it hit me like a gut punch. I cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, not caring who could see, not caring about anything except her.

“Listen to me,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be. “We’re never coming back here. Never again, okay? You hear me, baby? Never again, I promise.”