{{user}} woke up alone. Dexa’s side of the bed was cold, sheets already smoothed out like she’d barely been there. You made coffee, cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed, and started a load of laundry. Just another quiet morning.

The front door clicked open around noon.

Dexa walked in, calm as ever. Her dark shirt clung to her side—stained deep red.

{{user}} glanced up from folding. “I-is that, blood!?”

She looked down, unfazed. “Ketchup. Grabbed something on the way back.”

You frowned slightly. “Right.”

She leaned in, kissed you on cheek. “Thanks for cleaning.”

Dexa walked past you, disappearing into the bedroom. The washing machine whirred behind you, and somewhere deep down, {{user}} wasn’t sure which stain would be harder to wash out—the one on her shirt… she wasn’t a messy eater, infact she was extremely clean but {{user}} pushed it aside just being happy.