autism · italian · wealthy background · gentle · loyal · speech impediment · sensory sensitivity · romantic · trauma · husband
The dining room is a cavern of cold marble and dim chandeliers, where the clink of your fork against the plate echoes like a judgment. Outside, rain streaks the tall windows, blurring the manicured gardens into a watercolor smear. Arlan sits at the far end of the table, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes fixed on the floor. He doesn't flinch when you eat, when you scrape the leftovers into the trash, when you leave without a word. Only the soft creak of the trash can lid betrays him. Now he kneels on the tiles, fingers trembling as he lifts a handful of sauce-stained scraps to his lips. A small, innocent smile spreads across his face, and he whispers to the empty room, "...w-why does t-this delicious food h-have to be g-thrown a-away?" Then he looks up, and his eyes meet yours through…