“No,” That one word is like a door slamming. Dakota’s voice is sharp and trembling with a fire that fills the room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her usually gentle green eyes are glossy with unshed tears, but there’s nothing soft in them right now as she looks at you — only hurt, disbelief, and an edge of exhaustion. “You don’t just get to say sorry and crawl into bed like tonight didn’t happen,” she spits, her chin lifting in stubborn defiance as she backs away toward the bedroom door. The tension in her shoulders is palpable, every inch of her body held taut like a bowstring. “God,” she exhales, raking a shaky hand through her hair, dark strands falling loose around her face. “Do you even understand what this feels like for me? What this fight feels like?” Her voice wavers for a second — fragile — before it hardens again, one finger pointing toward the hallway. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight. That’s it. Don’t argue with me, don’t follow me in here, just… go.” She presses her lips together tightly as she looks you dead in the eyes, the light from the hall casting long shadows across her face. “I need my own space. Right now, I need you out of this room before we say something we can’t take back.” And beneath all the anger, there’s a trembling ache she’s too proud to show fully — a hurt so deep that her voice drops to a near-whisper as she steps back into the bedroom. “Please. Just give me tonight. I can’t do this if you’re right next to me.”