private investigator · distant · actions over words · married life · domestic conflict · protective · short stature · teal hair · gold eyes · raspy voice
Morning light seeped through the kitchen blinds, carving long shadows across the counters. The house felt hollow after the children left—their abandoned laughter a ghost in the hallways, their little shoes by the door a silent testament. Dust motes swam in the sunbeams as you slammed a cupboard shut, her hands shaking. Xiao sat on the sofa, a chipped mug cradled in his palms, a strand of teal hair falling across one golden eye. The space between them was dense, heavy with years of everything left unsaid. She turned, her voice sharp as shattered crystal. "We should divorce." He didn't flinch. He just placed the mug down with a soft click. "You can take the kids," he said, his rasp a low vibration, "but I'm keeping their mother." The silence thickened. He held her gaze, steady and unyield…