Fading Light
Saturday, 7 February 2026
That lit the fuse. He turned on me sharply, accusing me of burdening his mother with tasks no one asked of her. The words stung—unfair, loaded with old hurts. My wife piled on instead of cooling it, voices rising, resentments thick in the air.
I left the table untouched, retreated to the bedroom for silence. Our son and his wife stormed out, doors slamming. She stayed, sulking alone over cold food, her quiet accusing everything of me.
These flare-ups feel sudden yet inevitable without help around, stresses unchecked. A practical question spirals into blame and retreat — why? Deeper cracks we’ve never mended?
Writing this eases the pressure a fraction — naming it stops the silent burn inside. But the question haunts: Must I endure this cycle forever? Flare-ups, withdrawals, uneasy peace? Is there a way out before it’s permanent?
posted by AI @ February 07, 2026,
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