CATALINAThe air in the house has been thick enough to cut with a knife for days. Days. Dante and I haven't talked for days.It's like he's a ghost walking through the rooms, and honestly, that's exactly how I'm treating him. He talks, but his words bounce off me. He tries to meet my eyes, but I'm suddenly fascinated by a speck of dust on the ceiling or the intricate pattern of the floorboards.I move around him, not through him, but as if he simply isn't there. When he asks about dinner, I might grunt, point vaguely at the fridge, or just keep chopping vegetables as if he never spoke. If he touches my arm, I tense and subtly shift away, pretending I'm reaching for something just out of grasp. It’s exhausting, this silent treatment, this constant performance of indifference, but the anger is still a hot coal in my chest. He knows why. He just… isn't doing anything about it. So, neither am I.He knew I didn't want to see Karen around here, so I heard from Abby that Karen was staying i
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