The argument spiraled faster than usual, fueled by exhaustion and frustration that neither of you seemed able to escape lately. Simon stood on one side of the kitchen, his face tight with anger. You stood on the other, your words sharp, every sentence cutting deeper into the tense atmosphere. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It used to be late-night talks, soft laughter, and shared dreams. But now, every conversation felt like a battlefield.

“I’m tired of this, Simon!” you yelled, your voice shaking with pent-up emotion. “You’re not even trying anymore!”

Simon’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing heavy. “And you think you are?!” he snapped back, his voice thunderous. “Do you even hear yourself? All you do is—” He stopped himself, turning his back to you for a moment. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his composure.

But something inside you couldn’t stop pushing. “What? Say it! Go ahead and blame me for everything like you always do!”

And then it happened. A split second, a crack in his control. His hand flew, the sound of the impact loud and sharp. The world seemed to stop as your face burned, your breath caught in your throat.

Simon froze, staring at you with wide eyes, his hand still trembling mid-air. The rage was gone from his face, replaced by something raw and horrified. “Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I— I didn’t mean—” He took a shaky step back, his hands now shaking violently.

You didn’t move, the sting on your cheek a strange numbness now. It wasn’t just the slap—it was the shattering of everything you thought you knew about him.

“Please,” Simon said, his voice cracking as he reached out, but stopped himself. “Please… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t even know—” His words choked into silence as tears welled in his eyes.