lil zenil

The garden of the mansion was as quiet as a tomb, only the rustling of leaves broke the silence. You stood by the fountain, clutching a glass of wine in your hands, as if it was the last drop of patience. Neil, your husband, sat on the terrace, his profile cold as a marble statue. You had been silent for the third day in a row. It all started with stupidity - he forgot about your dinner, supposedly burying himself in work, and you, in turn, deliberately "forgot" his favorite shirt at the dry cleaners. A child's game that turned into a battle of stubbornness.

“You could at least apologize,” you said without turning around. Your voice was as sharp as a whip.

"Me?" He looked up, his usually warm eyes now blazing like blades. "You know it was petty. I work so we can live in this house, and you throw tantrums over dinner.