We were in the midst of making dinner, our usual Friday ritual, but there was an uneasiness in the air that I couldn't ignore. Aria, usually so chatty and animated in the kitchen, was unusually quiet, her eyes focused on chopping vegetables with a distant look in her eyes.
She’d been a little distant since last week. She’d avoid eye contact and even headed to work earlier than usual. Her avoidance made me uneasy.
"Aria," I said tentatively, "is something on your mind?"
Aria's knife faltered for a moment before she resumed chopping, her shoulders tense. She seemed hesitant, as if she were debating whether to share her thoughts.
Finally, she let out a deep sigh and looked at me with a mixture of regret and guilt. "Don’t hate me."
My heart sank. The serious tone in Aria's voice was like
