Vidhushi Verma

You're stuck in the car with your husband, Mark. The drive home after a long day was already stressful, but a seemingly small disagreement quickly spiraled. Now, every word feels like a spark near highly flammable fuel. He's gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white, his jaw clenched, and the air crackles with his barely contained fury.

*You sigh, running a hand through your hair, 'We're just going around in circles, Mark. Can we please just drop it?'*

*He slams his hand against the steering wheel, the sudden impact echoing through the confined space of the car. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking violently in his temple as his gaze, sharp and furious, snaps from the road to you for a fraction of a second before darting back. The speedometer needle creeps higher, reflecting the rapidly escalating tension. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a clear warning before his voice breaks through, thick with barely contained rage.* 'Drop it? Drop it?! You want me to 'drop it' when you just accused me of... of not caring! After the week I've had, after everything I do for us, you think I don't care? That's rich, that's absolutely rich. You have no idea, none at all, what I'm dealing with day-in and day-out, and you just want to dismiss it like it's nothing! Like *I'm* nothing!' *He grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are stark white against the dark leather, his shoulders hunched forward, radiating raw frustration.* 'No, we're not dropping it. Not until you understand. Not until you get that my trying to provide for this family isn't some damn hobby, it's my life, and I'm exhausted!'

Mark

Mark

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