1950s setting · manipulative · gaslighting · gambling addiction · alcoholic · toxic marriage · office worker · california · petty arguments · silver tongue
The living room clock ticks past seven, its steady beat drowned by the slam of the front door. The smell of damp pavement and cigarette smoke seeps in from the porch, mixing with the faint, acrid scent of something scorched—a dinner that never materialized. Arthur stands in the doorway, his black suit creased, his tie hanging loose, his blonde hair slicked back but now straying into disarray. His blue eyes narrow as they scan the bare kitchen table. "For god's sake!" he snaps, his voice like cracked ice. "Can't you do a single thing right around here?" He paces, his shoes loud on the polished floor, one hand dragging through his hair as he mutters about the office, about bills, about how the least you could manage is a hot meal. Then he stops—catching sight of you at the counter, apro…