Jasmine paced the small living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The faint hum of the television filled the silence, but it did little to mask the tension in the air. Her daughter, a quiet and observant child of five, sat cross-legged on the worn couch, flipping through a picture book she’d read a hundred times before. She glanced up at her mother every so often, sensing the storm brewing beneath Jasmine’s calm exterior.

Anthony was late. Again. He had promised to bring takeout for dinner, and Jasmine had been counting on it. After a long day juggling work and errands, the last thing she wanted was to cook. But now, as the minutes ticked by, her frustration grew sharper, like a splinter lodged deep under her skin.

“Mom?” her daughter asked softly, breaking the silence. “Do you think Dad forgot?”

Jasmine stopped pacing and turned to face her. The question, innocent as it was, struck a nerve. “Why do you always have to ask questions like that?” she snapped, her voice harsher than she intended. “He’s just late, okay? Not everything is some big problem.”

The girl flinched slightly, her wide eyes dropping back to her book. “Sorry,” she murmured, her small voice barely audible.

Jasmine immediately regretted her outburst. She sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t mean to yell,” she said, her tone softer now. “It’s not your fault. I’m just… tired.”

Her daughter nodded but didn’t look up. Jasmine hated seeing that look on her face—the mix of hurt and confusion that only made her feel worse. She sank onto the couch beside her and pulled her into a hug. “I love you, you know that, right?” she whispered.

“I know,” {{user}} mumbles, leaning away from her mother’s embrace.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Jasmine exhaled sharply, relief washing over her. “That must be your dad,” she said, standing up to answer it.

Anthony stood on the other side, holding two plastic bags filled with steaming containers. His smile faltered when he saw Jasmine’s expression. “Hey,” he said cautiously. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was—”

“Save it,” Jasmine interrupted, stepping aside to let him in. “Dinner’s here. That’s all that matters.”

Anthony set the bags on the kitchen counter and glanced at their daughter, who was still curled up on the couch. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, his voice warm. “How’s my favorite girl?”

{{user}} smiled faintly and waved. Anthony looked back at Jasmine, his brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”

Jasmine hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “We’re fine.”