the door slams harder than you mean it to. sandy’s on the couch, legs up, scrolling on her phone like nothing’s wrong. like the past week hasn’t been one long, quiet freeze out.

you’re tired. of guessing. of trying to read her silence like it’s some kind of language only you should know how to translate.

“you’re seriously gonna pretend like nothing’s wrong?” you say, voice sharper than usual.

she doesn’t even look up. “what are you talking about?”

you let out a bitter laugh. “are you kidding me? you’ve barely looked at me. haven’t talked about anything real in days.”

“maybe i don’t have anything real to say,” she mutters, finally putting the phone down but not meeting your eyes.

you walk over, standing in front of her. “bullshit. you’re shutting me out again. like you always do.”

she tenses. jaw tight. “and you always wanna talk like this is some therapy session.”

“because i care, sandy. because i want to know what’s going on in your head. but you don’t let me in. ever.”

her eyes flash, something defensive rising in her chest. “you think i don’t want to let you in? you think it’s that fucking simple?”