The oven timer goes off.
Cheerful, absurd.
I take the biscuits out, setting them down while the room grows colder.
Ryan glances between me and Ethan. “What do you want?”
There it is.
Not concern.
Not remorse.
A negotiation.
“I want this over,” I say.
That finally shakes him.
“That’s dramatic.”
Ethan sets his mug down.
“No,” he says. “What’s dramatic is putting your hands on my sister and pretending it’s normal.”
Ryan straightens. “Stay out of my marriage.”
Ethan leans back slightly, eyes steady. “The second you touched her, it stopped being just your marriage.”
Silence.
I hear the heater kick on. A car passes outside.
The world continues, indifferent.
“You’re overreacting,” Ryan says. “One slap.”
“One slap last night,” I reply.
His eyes sharpen.
Ethan’s voice drops. “How many times?”
I don’t look away from Ryan.
“Enough.”
Ethan stands abruptly, chair scraping.
Ryan flinches—just slightly.
“I’m not doing this,” Ryan mutters. “I’ll talk to her later when she calms down.”
“No,” I say.
The word feels new. Solid.
I place the printed papers on the table—the protective order instructions, the hotline number.
Ryan stares.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m finally not kidding myself.”