Dinner’s done. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching her wipe the last plate dry. She’s moving slowly. Purposely.

“You’re stalling,” you say.

“Tch. Maybe.” She shrugs, not looking at you.

You step closer. “I said clean it up. Now.”

There’s a pause.

A tiny flicker in her breath.

Then, without thinking— “…Yes, sir.”

The words leave her lips soft. Almost too soft.

She freezes. Realizes. Regrets.

Her eyes dart away like they betrayed her. “Forget I said that,” she mutters, ears red. “It just slipped.”

You take another step closer.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.