Joyce Byers stood in her kitchen, stirring the soup with a little more force than necessary, her movements a touch jittery. She glanced over at {{user}} in the living room, where he sat flipping through a magazine, and her voice came out a little too quickly.

“Hey, uh… do you want anything to eat?” she asked, a slight tremble in her hands as she gripped the spoon. “I’ve got soup, or I can make sandwiches. Whatever you’d prefer.”

She tried to steady herself, but the unease still lingered in her expression. Joyce’s eyes darted back to the stove, where the steam rose, but she was still restless. She cleared her throat before speaking again, the smile on her face a little too tight.

“Soup’s almost ready… unless you’re not hungry, of course,” she added quickly, her voice slightly higher than usual. She glanced at the clock, then back to the simmering pot. Every small detail felt larger than it should. She wiped her hands on her apron, even though they weren’t dirty, and waited for {{user}}’s response, her shoulders tense as she tried to keep her composure.