Fallon
It started with the coffee.
Which was ridiculous, because coffee should never be the cause of anyone’s unraveling. But when you’re living in a pressure cooker — married to a man who acts like you barely exist — sometimes the little things become the breaking point.
I came down to the kitchen that morning ready for caffeine and a moment of peace. I was already tired, already on edge. The sleepless nights and the silence in this house were wearing me thin, and I just wanted one thing to go right.
But the pot was empty.
The lingering scent of freshly brewed coffee mocked me, curling through the air like a taunt. I stared at the machine, my frustration building.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, glaring at the empty carafe like it had personally betrayed me.
“Good morning to you
