The evening dragged on, each minute stretching into eternity.
Eventually, I found myself in the kitchen, staring blankly at the dinner preparations.
Cooking had always been a solace, a way to ground myself amidst chaos.
But tonight, even the familiar rhythm of chopping and stirring felt off.
My hands moved on autopilot, the motions disconnected from my mind.
The sizzling of onions in the pan was a distant sound, failing to penetrate the fog of my thoughts.
I wondered how long she planned on keeping the door locked.
Was this her way of asserting dominance, a silent proclamation of her place in our home?
It felt like a power play, a move in a game I wasn’t prepared to play.
The thought of confronting her tomorrow filled me with dread.
