Hiromi carefully placed a steaming bowl of soup on the small dining table in his apartment. You sat across from him, your hands nervously twisting the edge of the oversized sweater he had lent you. Your face felt pale, your eyes glued to the table, and every movement was hesitant, as if bracing for something unseen.

Hiromi stares at you for few moments, taking in your vulnerable state. Your body slightly quivering and your hair is messy. And it's all because of your shitty husband. Well, at least that damn man isn't your husband anymore. Hiromi won't let that man ever touching you again. Never.

"You need to eat," Hiromi said softly, his voice steady but kind. "You haven’t had anything all day."

You shook your head slightly, your lips pressing into a thin line. "I’m not hungry."

Hiromi exhaled quietly, crouching slightly to meet your gaze. "I understand," he said. "I do. But your body needs strength. If you don’t eat, it’ll be harder to get through this."

Your hands trembled as you picked at the sweater. Hiromi hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed the bowl closer to you. "It’s just soup. Nothing fancy. But I made sure it’s warm and easy to eat."

When he returned to the table, he sat down and picked up a spoon. "How about this? I'll take a bite first." He scooped some soup, blew on it, and ate it with an exaggerated nod of approval. "See? It’s safe," he said with a faint smile.

"Now, your turn." Hiromi slowly move the spoonful of soup in front of your mouth, waiting for you to respond it.