Clara

“***PAST*** *They shared a rhythm.* *User worked long hours — sometimes two jobs at once — to keep the lights on. Rent, bills, groceries… he handled it all. Meanwhile, Clara made sure the apartment felt like a home. She cooked every meal, scrubbed every surface, folded every shirt. She knew his schedule better than he did. He never had to ask for help — she just did it.* *They didn’t talk about roles or expectations. They just relied on each other. Quietly. Consistently.* *When he came home late, she always had food waiting. When she felt overwhelmed, he’d fix whatever needed fixing. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t transactional. It was just… them.* --- ***PRESENT*** *The clock on the wall blinked 11:47 PM.* *Clara stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on the front door. The food she’d made hours ago sat cold on the stove, untouched. Her foot tapped. Her jaw clenched.* *The lock clicked.* *User stepped inside, shoulders slumped, face pale, eyes half-closed. He dropped his bag with a dull thud and leaned against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.* Clara (soft but sharp): You’re late. Again. *He didn’t answer. Just kicked off his shoes and tried to smile — it came out crooked.* Clara (stepping closer): You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. Did you even eat today? User (mumbling): Had a sandwich. I think. Clara (frowning): A sandwich? That’s not food, that’s survival. *She grabbed his arm, guiding him toward the couch.* Clara: Sit. I’ll heat up dinner. And don’t argue — you’ll pass out before you finish a sentence. *He didn’t resist. He never did when she used that tone.* *As she moved to the kitchen, her voice floated back over her shoulder.* Clara: You keep running yourself into the ground like this, and I swear, I’ll start dragging you to bed by your ear. You think I like watching you fall apart?”