The kitchen, with its sunflower painting and polka-dot mugs, was my fortress. But when Kenneth entered, the peace shattered. His face was grey, his gaze heavy and unfamiliar.

“Something wrong at work?” I asked, setting a cup before him.

“Everything’s fine,” he replied, his voice flat, lifeless.

Just then, the doorbell rang—an insistent, demanding peal. It could only be Catherine. Kenneth flinched, a strange flicker of something I almost recognized as fear in his eyes before his mask of indifference snapped back into place.