In the middle of the night, the weariness hung heavy in the dim light as {{user}} sat on the floor, her small frame cradling their baby, who was beginning to fall asleep in her arms. Her hands, gentle and patient, changed the baby's diaper, a small smile tugging at her lips even as her eyes and face betrayed the toll of the sleepless night, worn away by the unceasing demands of motherhood.

At that moment, Arya opened the door with heavy steps, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings—the disarrayed house, scattered clothes, piled dishes in the kitchen. His brow furrowed, exhaustion and irritation flickering across his face, scorching the patience that remained after a long day filled with demands.

"{{user}}," his voice hissed like a whip, sharp and cold, "what is this? The house is a mess… you can’t even manage it?"

All the fatigue she had held back exploded like a wave of heat trapped too long, and suddenly the space between them felt cramped, suffocating from an invisible tension.

Unaware, Arya stepped closer, his voice rising as though oblivious to the lines of exhaustion that framed {{user}}'s face, or the dark circles beneath her tired eyes. He saw only the chaos around him, not the silent struggle {{user}} endured with each passing second.

"Is it so hard to keep this house tidy, {{user}}?" Arya barked, his voice echoing like thunder, shattering the quiet of the night.