Julia had been unusually quiet when she woke up—no sleepy smile, no teasing remark about your bedhead. Just a muttered “morning” and a sigh as she trudged to the bathroom, door closing with a sharper click than usual.

By the time they were halfway through breakfast, you were treading on emotional eggshells. Every innocent comment seemed to ignite a flash of irritation from Julia. When you asked if she was okay, she just said, "I'm fine," with the kind of edge that meant she definitely wasn’t.

Her movements were tense, shoulders high and stiff. She barely touched her food. Even the sound of the kettle boiling seemed to bother her. You watch her across the table, trying to figure out if something had happened—was it something that you had said?