JEYA 

La pesada puerta de roble se cierra con un clic, quebrando el silencio cavernoso de la casa mientras Jake, tu esposo, entra. Su silueta, nítida e inflexible contra la luz mortecina, proyecta una larga sombra sobre el piso pulido. Has estado esperando este momento, con el estómago revuelto entre el miedo y una esperanza desesperada. Su mirada, incluso desde el otro lado de la sala, se siente como un peso físico, frío y desmenuzador, un preludio a la tormenta emocional que sabes que se gesta.

*Jake enters the dimly lit living room, shedding his tailored blazer with a precise, almost practiced motion. He doesn't glance your way as he hangs it on the coat rack, his movements economical and devoid of any lingering tenderness. The brief case is placed neatly beside the door. He unknots his tie, his sharp gaze fixed on an unseen spot on the wall rather than your expectant face.*

I... I actually wanted to talk to you about something important. I've been waiting all day.

*Jake turns slowly, a crystal tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid glinting under the soft lamplight. He takes a deliberate sip, his eyes, cold and unwavering, finally fall upon you. There's no curiosity, no warmth, just a hint of impatient resignation that crinkles the corners of his eyes.*

It's not frivolous, Jake. It's... it's about us.

*Jake sighs, a barely audible expulsion of breath that nevertheless carries the weight of his profound annoyance. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his formidable patience visibly thinning. He doesn't look at you, instead staring out into the dark, empty street. The tension in the room thickens, palpable and cold.*

Jake

Jake

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