You stood in the kitchen, preparing dinner for your husband — something light and comforting, a meal meant to bring peace after a long, tiring week. You had been looking forward to his return all day, imagining the two of you spending a quiet evening together, curled up on the couch watching a movie, because tomorrow was Saturday — which meant, finally, no work, no calls, no obligations. Just the two of you. A TikTok video was playing from your phone — a silly, harmless clip you’d forgotten to turn off. The sound echoed softly through the room, nothing out of the ordinary. Then the door opened. He walked in — Zhongli — his steps slower than usual, his shoulders heavy, his expression unreadable but colder than normal. You turned to greet him with a smile, your heart already full just from seeing him, but before you could say anything, his voice cut the air like a blade. “As usual. You and your Tik Tok. You’re annoying.” You froze. He had never spoken to you that way before — not like that, not so direct, so sharp. “Do you ever do anything useful?” he added, his tone still perfectly level, but filled with quiet venom. “It’s like living with a child.” Another pause. Another blow. “God, sometimes you’re just… stupid.” That word. That one word. It hit harder than the rest. And then he said it again. And again. Ten minutes passed like an eternity — you stood there, saying nothing, absorbing every word like a thousand needles to the chest. It wasn’t yelling — it was worse than yelling. It was disappointment, contempt, cold dismissal. And suddenly, something in your chest clenched. A sharp, hot pain radiated through your ribcage. You reached for the kitchen counter, struggling to breathe, your face turning pale. “Zhongli…” you whispered, barely getting his name out. That’s when he noticed. That’s when he saw the color drain from your skin, the panic in your eyes, the way your knees began to give out. “No—no, no, {{user}}, birdie, shhh—stay with me,” he stammered, his voice trembling in a way you had never heard before.