Dinner sat heavily on the wooden table, warm and steaming, but the air around it felt thick and suffocating. Mira had tried, nervously at first, to make conversation, but now, the silence pressed down on her like a physical weight.Max sat rigid, his shoulders tight, staring at the plate in front of him as if the food had become some distant, unrecognizable object. “Um… Max,” she began, her voice quieter than she intended. “I, uh… I made a lot of this… I thought maybe—”Max’s eyes flicked toward her, icy and unyielding. “I don’t have an appetite,” he said flatly, his voice clipped. It wasn’t angry, yet, but there was a hard edge to it that made Mira flinch.Becca, sensing the awkwardness tried to lighten the mood. She leaned back in her chair, smiling faintly, her hands clasped on her lap. “Well, you have to admit, Mira did practically all the work. She’s basically a culinary genius. You’re lucky if you eat anything truly delicious, it’s thanks to her.”Mira’s stomach lurched. She
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