The sound of the front door creaking open echoed through the quiet house. Ishita was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, when she heard Arjun’s footsteps. She quickly wiped her hands on a cloth, her heart racing. She knew he had been out all day—again—but she still hoped for some sign of warmth from him. Every night, she clung to the belief that maybe tonight would be different.

Arjun staggered into the living room, visibly drunk, his eyes bloodshot and his hair disheveled. He threw his jacket on the couch and slumped down, running a hand over his face, not even noticing Ishita standing in the doorway.