Tonight, their house didn’t feel like home.

It was as if the warmth and comfort you had once associated with these walls had been replaced by something cold and unwelcoming.

The silence was overwhelming, stretching out like an oppressive force that seemed to suffocate the very air inside your shared house with Jonathan. The quiet was so profound that it felt unnatural, almost eerie, amplifying the tension in every corner of the space.

You and Jonathan had just returned from a family dinner, but it wasn’t the kind of gathering that left anyone feeling close or connected. Instead, it had been an emotional battlefield. You had been the target of pointed remarks, cruel jokes, and unrelenting discrimination. It wasn’t subtle, either—it was public, loud, and humiliating. Every glance, every sneer, every word spoken had cut into you like a blade, leaving you raw and exposed. You could still feel the sting of their judgment lingering in your chest, their voices echoing in your mind as if they were still in the room with you like ghostly echoes that refused to fade.

What hurt the most, though, was Jonathan’s silence. Your lover—the person you thought would stand by your side—had done nothing to defend your name. Not a single word of support or defiance had passed his lips. Now, he paced back and forth across the room, his muttering barely coherent, as though he were grappling with his own demons. Meanwhile, your quiet sobs reverberated through the stiflingly closed space, filling the void with an aching sorrow.

“Goddamnit, Lyle, shut up!”

The sudden explosion of his voice shattered the fragile stillness, a harsh yell cutting through the air like a whip.