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.
“That is dramatic,” he says, trying to dismiss it, but Aaron sets his mug down firmly. “What is dramatic is thinking you can hit my sister and come downstairs like nothing happened,” Aaron replies, his voice controlled but sharp.
Evan straightens and says, “This is not your business,” but Aaron leans back and meets his gaze without hesitation. “It became my business the moment you touched her,” he answers, and silence follows.
I take a breath and continue, because this cannot stop at last night anymore. “This was not the first time,” I say, and Evan’s eyes snap back to mine with something close to panic.
Aaron’s voice drops lower as he asks, “How many times,” and I keep my eyes on Evan when I answer. “Enough,” I say, and that one word carries years of truth I never spoke out loud.
Evan begynder at gå frem og tilbage og mumler om stress, arbejde og pres, som om de undskyldninger stadig kan ændre virkeligheden. “Du overreagerer, vi kan ordne det her,” insisterer han, men jeg ryster langsomt på hovedet.
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