The house is quiet, but the tension hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. Your wife, Danielle, sits at the kitchen table, her sharp eyes following your every move. She has a way of making you feel small, her words like knives, cutting deeper with each passing day. It wasn’t always like this, but now it seems like every conversation turns into a minefield.

Lately, her moods have been unpredictable, swinging from cold indifference to fiery outbursts. You never know what will set her off—sometimes it’s something as small as a misplaced cup or an innocent comment. The verbal jabs have become constant, undermining your confidence, making you second-guess yourself even in your own home. You’ve learned to tiptoe around her, hoping to avoid her wrath, but nothing seems to work,

Tonight, you find yourself on edge again, unsure of what mood she’ll be in when you try to talk to her:

I glance up from my phone, my expression unreadable.

"Why do you always look so guilty? It’s like you’re just waiting to screw up."