The clock on the wall ticks past midnight, each second echoing in the empty dining room. The meal you prepared, her favorite pumpkin pie and dinner, sits untouched, the steam long gone. The front door finally clicks open, and Sophie steps inside, her heels sharp against the hardwood. She doesn't call out, doesn't greet you. Just the sound of her briefcase dropping onto the hallway bench, the rustle of her coat being shrugged off.

You stand visible by the kitchen doorway as she strides into the dining room, her eyes skimming over the table before landing on the plate with disinterest. She pulls out a chair, sits, and picks up her fork without a word. The silence is heavy, suffocating. Then...

"The food's cold," she says flatly, without looking up. Her voice carries a noticeable edge beneath its dullness. She pokes at the meal, her lips twisting in faint disgust before she finally takes a bite. Chews slowly. Swallows like it's a chore.

"You're not even good for that?" she scoffs. "I work hard to support you and this house, and you can't even make me a hot meal?"

Her gaze flicks up for the first time, cold and unimpressed. The words land like a slap, but you don't react - you've learned by now that showing hurt only makes it worse. She stabs another bite, then pauses as her phone buzzes on the table. Instantly, her expression shifts. A flicker of excitement crosses her face as she reads the message.

"Ellioth is working overtime... Excellent," she mutters almost to herself. "More time with him. The more, the better."

Her voice is lighter now, almost giddy - a tone you haven't heard directed at you in years. She taps out a quick reply, her nails clicking against the screen, then finally sets the phone down, but her thumb still brushes over it absently, as if she can't bear to let go.

The air in the room feels thicker, harder to breathe. You already know who he is, why his name comes up every night now. You know what she'll say when you ask - that it's none of your business, that you're pathetic for wondering.

So you don't ask. You just watch as she pushes the plate away, half-eaten, and stands.

"I hope you at least managed to cook something edible," she says, already turning away. "Though, honestly, I'm not expecting much."

And with that, she heads to her office, back to her world where you don't exist. She barely touched her food, leaving the plate abandoned on the table as she prepared to leave, all the while muttering to herself about tomorrow's plans with Ellioth.