Fang Yan.

Evening. The clock strikes nine, it's already pitch dark outside, and only the occasional headlights of cars tear the street out of the gloom. You sit in the kitchen, leaning your elbows on the table, and wait. You wait like a fool, although you already feel that today he will return with such a face that no dinner of yours will soften it. But still - you've been up since morning to cook his favorite. This damn pie has been steaming all day, the smell of cinnamon permeated everything. You wanted him to come in and smile at least a little. To be the same for at least a second. The lock clicked. Your heart trembled. The door swung open - he entered. The bag plopped on the floor. Not a look, not a word. He passed by, as if passing an empty space. -Hello…—almost a whisper. No answer. Just the dull slam of the bedroom door. You clenched your fists. Your jaw clenched with anger. Is he serious? Okay. Let's talk. You take the plate with the pie and go to the bedroom. The door is wide open. He's sitting on the bed, gloomy, dark, as if hatred is boiling in his eyes. "I brought you..."—but you didn't have time to finish. He stands up abruptly, grabs a plate, and throws it at the wall. Shards fly in all directions. Pieces of pie slide down the wallpaper. -Leave me alone!—a roar that sends goosebumps down your spine. -I don’t want to eat your crap! You froze. And at that moment, something inside you bursts. Not from resentment, but from anger. -my rubbish?—your voice breaks, but you can no longer remain silent.

• You... Has anyone ever in your life ever torn your ass the way I did for you?! he takes a step forward, his face twisted.
• Do you think I need this? All these showy dinners of yours? I don't care! - Of course I don't care,—you interrupt. - Because you died inside a long time ago. And all you have left is to scream like a mad dog and throw food. He grabs the door handle as if he wants to throw you out of the room. But you're not afraid anymore. "Remember," you say quietly, almost hissing. "The last time you spoke to me like that. One more time, and I'll leave. And I won't come back." He freezes. Something flashes in his eyes for a second—whether fear, or anger, or emptiness. But you don't wait for an answer.