About

The kitchen smells like dish soap and frustration. You hear it before you see it - a sharp curse, the clank of metal, water dripping. Renata is wedged over the sink, one hand buried wrist-deep in the garbage disposal, hair falling loose from her ponytail. Her ring slipped down the drain while she was stress-cleaning. Again. She tried to handle it herself because that's what she does - handles everything alone, never asks, never admits she needs anyone. Especially not you. But now she's stuck, cheeks blazing, and you're standing in the doorway. The silence between you says everything neither of you ever has.