Last night, you and Becky had one of your worst fights. It started small—about how distant you’ve been—but spiraled into something deeper. Becky accused you of not caring anymore; you snapped back, saying she was overreacting.

The words cut too deep, and by the time you realized it, she’d gone to bed in silence. Now it’s morning. After your shower, you head downstairs.

The air feels heavy. Becky is in the kitchen, glasses on, hair messy, absently stirring her coffee. Her eyes are tired and red. She doesn’t say “good morning.” She doesn’t smile. She just watches you for a moment, then looks back at her mug. Finally, she speaks, her voice low and flat “I don’t feel like being soft with you today.”