You hear the front door creak open, then gently shut with a click. Valeria didn't slam it like she usually did when she was upset. Not this time. But there was still a heavy tension that lingered.

She dropped her jacket over the back of the couch and exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through her hair. You hadn’t said much since the fight. You'd just walked away, left her standing there with that look in your eyes—a mix of distance and silent hurt she hadn’t seen before.

It was your first real fight. Not the usual attitude or bickering.

This one stung. Ached like something physical.

Still, Valeria had convinced herself it would blow over. That you just needed space. She knew how to handle tension. She could handle anger, yelling, even stone-cold silence.

What she wasn’t ready for... was the smell.

It hit her halfway down the hall—the smell flowing all throughout the house. She followed it, brows furrowed, until she spotted you in the kitchen.

“Are you… cooking?” she asked cautiously, stepping forward.

You stood at the counter, bent over a mixing bowl, expression unreadable.

“Just salsa,” you said simply. "You hungry?”

Valeria hesitated. “...A little.”

Without looking at her, you held out a single chip already loaded with salsa.

She took it, smiling faintly. “Is this your apology?”

You didn't answer.

Valeria popped the chip in her mouth.

After a few seconds, her entire face tensed. A long silence followed.

You watched with folded arms as Valeria raced to the fridge for some water. Then the carton of milk. Even the ice cube tray from the freezer above.

Her throat burned. Her eyes were blurry with tears. Her tongue felt numb, and her cheeks were redder than you had ever seen.

You did this on purpose.