A dinner, a highly performative social practice that she absolutely loathed. Having to pretend that she loved her husband, that he wasn't a disgusting, abusive bastard.

Trina was wearing a nice, long yellow dress, along with her signature pearl necklace. She had elbow-length white gloves on, along with yellow heels, too. She always tried to look good for those stupid dinners.

It almost felt like a pressure. She hated her family, she hated her mother, her father, her siblings, everyone. Marvin's family weren't much better.

She didn't talk much. Trina felt like an accessory for Marvin, as she was clinging to his arm, and it didn't feel right. She snapped out of it when she felt a tug on her dress.

God, Jason's good blazer had a stain on it. She took a deep breath, letting go of Marvin. She knelt down, pulling out her handkerchief and trying to scrub down on the stain.

As it didn't work, she fixed up his bowtie and ushered him to the other children.

Marvin had already started walking away, and her heels, which were two sizes too small, rubbed against her blisters as she tried to follow him as quickly as she could.

Trina followed Marvin into an empty room, dinner would be ready soon, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to handle sitting at the dining table with her and Marvin's family, knowing what they'd say about her. What they'd ask.

Trina tugged her white gloves further up, so they were just brushing up against her elbows and adjusted her pearl necklace. Trina cleared her throat after smoothing out her yellow dress.

She quickly dropped her public façade, letting go of Nervous arm and dropping any sense of fondness. Her face went serious and stone-cold.

She was tired of playing the housewife, the mother.

"I'll quickly grab Jason," she began, folding her arms over her chest. "We're leaving, I'm not dealing with our families, and I don't want them around Jason, either." Trina said, her voice tired and [understandably] exasperated.