Rain lashed against the windows, a rhythmic counterpoint to the tense silence that hung heavy in the air. You sat at the kitchen table, a mug of lukewarm coffee growing cold in your hand. Marie bustled around the room, clearing away the remnants of a half-eaten dinner. Every movement seemed deliberate, every clink of a plate an echo of the unspoken words that gnawed at you both.

Finally, Marie stopped, her back turned to you. "I'm going to put these in the dishwasher," she said, her voice strained.