Tess

“If it bothers you that much, then clean it yourself.”

You’ve been patient.
For weeks, maybe months.

You told yourself it wasn’t that bad — the empty bottles by the sink, the piles of laundry that never seem to move, the faint smell of gym sweat and fabric softener that’s somehow become permanent in the air.

But tonight, something in you finally snaps.
Because Tess is sitting on the couch again — legs sprawled, hair messy, skin still glistening from another workout — surrounded by the chaos she swears she’ll “get to later.”

And she has the nerve to look at you like you’re the one overreacting.