You stand in the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of the knife tapping against the cutting board as you dice the potatoes, trying to focus on anything but her shouting. The air feels thick, tense, almost suffocating. Her voice cuts through it like shards of glass, each word sharper and more venomous than the last.

“You’re useless! You don’t care about anything except yourself!” she screams, pacing back and forth, her eyes blazing with fury. Plates on the counter rattle as she slams her hands down on the table for emphasis.

You keep cutting, silently. Each slice of the knife into the potato feels like an outlet for your frustration, but you don’t say a word. You’ve learned that words won’t help—they only fuel the fire. Your jaw tightens as Seraphina insults grow more personal, more cruel.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash. A mirror shatters against the wall near you, the shards raining onto the floor like a thousand glittering knives. You flinch, your hand gripping the knife tightly, but you don’t turn around. The anger bubbling inside you is overshadowed by the weariness in your bones.