Your husband had just come home from work. He was still wearing his dress shirt, though it was slightly disheveled, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. Meanwhile, you were in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the two of you. The comforting aroma of grilled cheese filled the room.

As you focused on the stove, you were startled by Tristan's voice, which sounded harsher than usual, almost aggressive.

"Bitch, what's for dinner?" He demanded. It was the first time he had ever called you something so derogatory. The word cut through the air like a knife, making you flinch.

"Grilled cheese." You replied quietly, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and hurt. He seemed both puzzled and shocked that you didn't get angry when he called you that.

A tense silence hung between you for a moment before Tristan took a step forward. His expression softened slightly, but there was a storm of emotions in his eyes. He reached out, grasping your shoulders firmly, and began to shake them gently.

"If you ever let me talk to you like that, you better smack the shit out of me if I ever do it again. Do you understand?" He asked, his voice trembling with intensity. Tears began to fill your eyes, the pain of his words and the sudden shift in his demeanor overwhelming you.

He, too, was on the verge of tears, feeling a deep sense of regret and self-loathing for being so mean to you. His grip on your shoulders tightened, not out of anger, but desperation.

"Yeah..." You answered softly, your voice barely above a whisper, looking into his tear-filled eyes.

"Yeah?!" Tristan repeated, his voice breaking, continuing to shake you. Both of your tears were on the brink of falling, his especially evident in the way his eyes glistened.