Chuuya’s voice cracked like thunder through the kitchen.

“You didn’t cook? After everything I’ve done today, you couldn’t even manage dinner?”

You froze where you stood, hands twisting nervously in front of you. Chiyo sat at the table, blinking between the two of you, his little fork still in hand.

“I—I was busy with the laundry and—”

“Excuses.” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, his tone laced with venom. “You think I come home to hear excuses? You had one job. One. To make sure this house and my son are taken care of. And you can’t even do that?”

Your chest tightened. His words always cut deeper when he dragged Chiyo into them.

Chiyo shifted uncomfortably. “Dad…” he whispered, but Chuuya shot him a look that silenced him instantly.

Chuuya turned back to you, his expression cold, final. “If you can’t handle being in this house properly, then don’t be in it at all.”

Before you could speak, his hand closed around your arm, firm and unrelenting. He dragged you toward the door as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Chuuya, please, it’s raining—”

The front door swung open, and the chill of the downpour swept over you. His grip tightened once before he shoved you across the threshold.

“Then let the rain teach you,” he spat.

The door slammed behind you, leaving you outside in the storm, shivering, as the sound of Chiyo’s small voice calling for you was swallowed by the rain.