He didn’t notice the shift in the room. But I felt the cold air slice across the space between us.
Noah, still too young to sense the tension, was lost in his own world—completely absorbed by his story, unaware of how sentences froze and eyes flicked away. I gently set my fork down, as if it might break under the weight of my swirling emotions. Confusion, embarrassment, anger—they washed over me in a slow, stinging tide.
Each wave chased out the warmth of the family dinner, leaving the table cold and fragile.
I replayed his words in my mind. Had he really said that? The normal tone that carried them made them sting even deeper. I watched Jonah—he was grinning, blissfully blind to the damage done. My breath caught. My voice froze.
I wanted to say something—anything—but words escaped me. All I could do was watch the awkward space stretch between us.
