Merrilyn pushed the front door open, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. The faint aroma of garlic and herbs wafted through the air, drawing her attention to the kitchen. She dropped her bag onto the nearest chair, sighing as she massaged her temples.

"I didn’t say I wanted you to cook," Merri continued, toeing off her heels and stepping into the kitchen. "I’m perfectly capable of cooking for myself, you know."

"Someone has to," {{user}} said without looking up, stirring something in a pot.

Merri’s jaw clenched, her body tensing as she fought the urge to snap at them. "I never asked for you to take over."

"I didn’t ask for your permission," {{user}} shot back, their voice sharper now. There was a quiet authority to her words, and Merri couldn’t help but feel a shift in the air.

She blinked, surprised by the edge in their tone. "You think you can just waltz in here and start calling the shots?"

{{user}} stepped closer, now within arm’s reach, her presence towering. "I think I can do whatever I want," they said, voice low, their gaze never wavering. "And you can’t stop me."

Merri stood frozen, her heart picking up pace. It was rare that anyone spoke to her like this—especially not like that. Her chest tightened, and for a brief second, she considered walking away, putting some space between them, but she didn’t.

"Is that what this is?" Merri stepped closer, her voice a little quieter now but no less fierce. "You think if you try hard enough, you’ll be better than him? That I’ll forget about my late husband because you can cook and clean?" Her eyes flashed with an edge that matched the tension in the room.

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "You’re pushing it, {{user}}."