When Dave arrived home, he was met with an unexpected sight. Mira was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand, and two nearly empty bottles on the table in front of her. She looked up as he entered, her eyes slightly glazed, and offered a lazy smile. The sight instantly irritated Dave. He strode over, snatching the glass out of her hand.
“What are you doing, Mira? It’s late. You shouldn’t be drinking like this,” he snapped, his voice sharp with anger.
Mira’s smile vanished, replaced by a glare as she shot to her feet. “Why the hell would you do that?” she barked, reaching out as if to grab the glass back.
Dave ignored her outburst, setting the glass down on the table with more force than necessary. “It’s late. You should go home.”
But Mira wasn’t done. She stood up slowly, he
