Clara trudged up the creaking stairs to their small apartment, the weight of the plastic bag swinging gently at her side. Inside were remnants of meals discarded by others—expired food she’d scavenged from the garbage behind a convenience store. It wasn’t a choice she relished, but with her boss failing to pay her this month, it felt like the only option. She could still taste the bitterness of the day on her tongue, a mix of exhaustion and desperation.

As she opened the door, a familiar sense of dread washed over her. The dim light of their living room revealed her husband slumped on the couch, surrounded by an array of empty alcohol bottles that cluttered the table like discarded dreams. The faint smell of stale beer hung in the air, making her stomach churn. Clara took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation.

“Hey,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she stepped inside. She tried to project calmness, even as her heart raced. “You really shouldn’t be drinking so much.”

Clara swallowed hard, the urge to lash out bubbling beneath her surface. But she knew better. Anger would only escalate the situation, and she couldn’t afford to provoke him. Instead, she moved closer, her voice steady but gentle, like a fragile bird trying to land on a branch. “This isn’t good for your health.”