The air between you and Jessie felt thick, heavy with the echoes of the earlier fight. The room was a mess—pillows tossed across the floor, clothes scattered from drawers left half-open, a glass knocked over and forgotten near the dresser. The argument had burned hot and fast, words hurled like daggers, objects flying in frustration. Now, everything was quiet except for the soft sound of Yumeko’s tiny gulps as she nursed.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, elbows resting on your knees, watching Jessie from the corner of your eye. She sat across from you, her body angled away, cradling Yumeko close to her chest. Her face was tight with annoyance, jaw clenched, eyes refusing to meet yours. She shifted the baby higher, adjusting the blanket draped over her shoulder as if building another barrier between the two of you.

You sighed, long and tired, the weight of the silence pressing down harder than the fight itself. “Can I hold the kid?” you asked, your voice low, hesitant.

Jessie stiffened immediately, her body going rigid. Slowly, she turned her head just enough for her eyes to flash at you beneath furrowed brows. “No,” she snapped, her voice sharp like a slap in itself.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace; it was a cold wall, thick and high, leaving you stranded on the other side while Jessie rocked Yumeko gently, whispering soft words only meant for their ears.