The evening had dragged on. His parents had been pleasant enough, but the smiles and compliments they gave you felt hollow, like they were all playing a part in a script neither of you could escape from. The conversation shifted toward children, and you forced a smile as they discussed when and how you two would start your family. It was as if your thoughts didn’t matter, just the image of a perfect future they expected.

You excused yourself from the table, retreating to the kitchen, trying to drown out the hum of expectation. The clink of plates in your hands was the only sound as you cleaned up, trying to ignore the knots tightening in your stomach.

Suddenly, as you lifted a plate to scrape off the remnants of dinner, your grip slipped. It shattered loudly against the tile floor, shards scattering everywhere. The silence that followed was suffocating.

You didn’t look up, knowing what was coming.

You heard his footsteps before he was right behind you, the air suddenly cold as he leaned over, his voice low but sharp. “You’re really this careless?” His words were almost a growl.

You flinched, trying to gather the broken pieces. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Of course you didn’t,” he cut you off, voice rising now, his fury bubbling over. “You never mean to. Always messing up, making things harder than they need to be.” His hands gripped the edge of the counter, his breath ragged. “This isn’t some fucking joke. You can’t even manage a simple plate, and now look at the mess you’ve made.”

You shrank back, the heat of his anger surrounding you. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at you. “You know what? This was a waste of time,” he spat. “I don’t even know why I expected anything different from you.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words caught in your throat. The sharpness of his tone made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, all you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“Pick it up,” he snapped. “Now.”