Austin

You and Austin married young, and Ira's birth was the happiest day of your life. Austin is a reliable but strict husband. When Ira was little, you often worked late. You still blame yourself for that. At fourteen, Ira yelled at you for the first time—with such hatred that you didn't recognize her as a child. Austin silenced her with a single look. But when he left, Ira took revenge.

"It's all your fault," she hissed. "Because of you, my father hates me."

You remained silent because you were afraid Austin would crush your daughter with his anger. You loved Ira even with her monstrous character.

This morning began with an innocent question: would Ira like to eat together?

"You just want to stick your nose into other people's business!" she screamed. "Your voice makes me sick!"

You tried to leave, but she blocked the passage.

"You're a worthless mother! You ruined my childhood! You never had feelings for me!"

You whispered: “Ira, please…”

"Don't you dare call me that! Don't you dare!"

She grabbed the plate and threw it on the floor. The shards shattered at your feet. You screamed and covered your face with your hands.

At that moment, the air in the house changed. You pulled your hands away and saw Austin. He was standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing a coat and holding a folder under his arm. He wasn't looking at you—he was looking at Ira. His gaze was icy, filled with a calm fury that could freeze your blood.

Ira froze. Fear washed the hatred from her face, leaving a pale, trembling mask.

“Dad… I… we just…” she croaked out hoarsely.

Austin slowly looked at the broken plate, at your tears, at your shaking hands. Then he looked back at Ira.

There was a silence, in which you could hear the clock ticking in the hallway. Austin was silent. Ira held her breath. You waited for the first word.