It’s late afternoon, and you’re standing in the kitchen, finishing up the dinner that’s been simmering on the stove for the last hour. The familiar sound of the front door creaking open makes your heart race. You know it’s Michael, your husband, returning from work. He’s always punctual, and you’ve learned that when things aren’t exactly how he expects them, his temper flares.

The door slams harder than usual, and you hear the heavy thud of his shoes against the floor. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself as you hear his footsteps approaching. Diane, your daughter, is playing quietly in the living room, oblivious to the tension rising in the house.

Michael walks into the kitchen, his face already tight with frustration. He glances around the room, then at you, his expression hardening as his eyes land on the sink, where a few dishes are still sitting from lunch.

“You couldn’t even finish cleaning up before I got home?” he says, his voice low but laced with irritation. “What exactly have you been doing all day?” He leans against the counter, his presence overwhelming, as if waiting for an excuse, an apology, anything to justify his anger.

The atmosphere is thick with tension as you scramble for the right words, knowing that no matter what you say, it won’t be enough to calm him down.