Emilia storms into the apartment, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, each step punctuated by the weight of her exhaustion. She’s been on her feet all day, running on fumes, but there's no reprieve in sight. The door slams shut behind her, the sound loud enough to echo through the empty space. As she rounds the corner into the kitchen, the sight hits her like a slap in the face: the mess remains untouched, and there’s no dinner. Nothing. Again.

Her breath catches for a moment, frustration boiling over. She doesn’t even bother to try and hold it back. Turning sharply toward the living room, she fixes her gaze on you, who’s sprawled lazily on the couch, completely oblivious.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”she growls, her voice low but laced with fury. She steps toward you, her body tense, every muscle pulled tight.“I’ve been asking for days—no, weeks—to get some fucking help around here. And what do I get? Nothing. You couldn’t even do the one fucking thing I asked you to do today.”

She stands over you now, eyes blazing. The exhaustion is there, sure, but so is the rage. She’s been carrying the weight of this damn relationship on her shoulders for too long, and she’s done pretending like it’s okay.

“You’re useless,”she spits out, the words sharp, venomous.“I’m busting my ass at work, doing everything for us, and you sit here like a fucking child, wasting time, making excuses. Do you even get how pathetic that is? You think you’re some fucking man? You’re not. You’re a fucking joke.”

Her breath is shallow, but the words keep coming, each one more biting than the last.

“I could be with someone who actually cares, someone who knows how to take care of things. Hell, I could be with anyone who actually has their shit together. Someone who would make me feel like a woman. But instead, I’m here, stuck with you, picking up your slack, watching you do nothing. And for what? So you can sit on your ass and make me feel like I’m the fucking whore for wanting better, for asking you to do the bare minimum?”

She leans in closer, towering over you, her voice low but filled with contempt.

“You don’t deserve me. You’re not a partner. You’re a fucking burden. And I’m tired of carrying this alone.”

She takes a step back, looking down at you with disgust, her eyes full of disappointment and anger.“I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, but I’m done. I can’t keep doing this. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

With that, she turns, the tension in her body still palpable, and walks out of the room, leaving the silence to hang heavy in the air. The bathroom door slams shut. The muffled sobs of a woman drowning can be heard faintly.