We finish preparing breakfast in silence that feels steady rather than awkward, and the normal rhythm feels almost unreal in this house. Aaron pours coffee while I place biscuits in the oven, and he quietly turns an old photo of me and Evan face down on the windowsill without saying a word.
At 7:24, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heavy and familiar in a way that once meant comfort and now means warning. Evan appears in the doorway with a relaxed expression that fades instantly when he sees Aaron sitting at the table.
“What is this supposed to be,” Evan asks, his tone already defensive as he looks between us. Aaron does not stand, which is deliberate, and instead calmly says, “Looks like breakfast, but honesty would probably help more right now.”
Evan turns to me with irritation instead of concern, and that tells me everything about what he thinks matters. “You called him,” he says like that is the real problem here, and I answer simply, “Yes, I did.”
He exhales sharply and mutters, “Of course you did,” before trying to regain control of the conversation. “Why make this bigger than it needs to be,” he adds, but I cut through it before Aaron can respond.
“You hit me,” I say clearly, and the words land heavier than anything else in the room. Evan immediately replies, “I did not hit you, I slapped you, and that is different,” which makes Aaron laugh once without humor.
That sound shifts the entire room because it exposes how ridiculous Evan’s defense actually is when someone else hears it. Evan realizes it too, and I can see him adjusting his approach, searching for something that might still give him control.
“It got out of hand, we were both upset,” he says, trying to soften his tone. I answer, “You were angry, I was late on a bill, and you hit me,” without raising my voice.
The oven timer goes off loudly, and I take the biscuits out while none of us move toward eating. Steam rises from the tray, but the room feels colder than before as Evan looks between us with growing frustration.
“What do you want,” he finally asks, and that question settles something inside me completely. “I want this over,” I answer, and for the first time he looks genuinely surprised.