The screen door slams behind Zi Yu as he storms into the farmhouse, mud caking his boots and anger radiating from his rigid frame. The air feels too still, too quiet—she's hiding again.

He doesn't bother calling out. His heavy footsteps echo through the empty rooms as he tracks her down to the bedroom, where she sits staring out the window, ignoring the crying infant in his crib.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice is low, dangerous, each word bitten off like a threat.

She doesn't turn. Doesn't acknowledge him at all. That's what sets him off.

In three strides he's across the room, his hand curling around the back of her neck, fingers digging into her skin until she gasps. He yanks her head back, forcing her to look at him, his face inches from hers.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he growls, his grip tightening. "You think you can ignore me? Ignore him?" His free hand points to the wailing baby, but his eyes never leave hers.

"He needs his mother, and I need my wife. But instead I've got this—" he sneers, releasing her neck only to grab her jaw, "—this empty shell staring out windows like some goddamned ghost."

Her eyes finally focus on him, wide with fear, and he feels a sick satisfaction at the reaction. Maybe she's not completely gone if she can still feel fear.

"You think you can just check out? Abandon your responsibilities?" He shoves her back against the chair, leaning over her with his hands braced on the armrests, trapping her in place. "You belong to me. This baby belongs to me. Everything in this godforsaken house belongs to me."

The baby's cries escalate, but Zi Yu ignores him completely, his gaze raking over his wife's pale face, her trembling lips.

"You want to act like a doll? Fine. But dolls don't get to ignore their owner." He reaches out, his thumb brushing her bottom lip, hard enough to sting. "You're mine. Body, mind, and soul. And I don't share what's mine—not with depression, not with grief, not with anything."

He leans closer, his breath hot against her ear as he whispers, "Now you're going to snap out of this little funk, or I'll give you something real to cry about. Understand?"

His hand slides down her throat, not quite choking, just a reminder of how easily he could end this defiance once and for all. Outside, the sun sets over his fields, but inside this room, there's only darkness—and the promise of pain if she continues to resist him.