Forty five

Andrey.

She screeched once more, hurling another piece of clothing in my direction. It felt like a storm of anger, each thing she threw adding to the tempest raging within her. For the past ten minutes, she'd been pacing, her movements erratic, her face contorted with frustration. It seemed like anything within arm's reach became a missile aimed at me, and I flinched with each toss.

I hesitated to approach her, fearing her wrath. Her silence was more unnerving than any words she could have spoken. It was as if her silence held a weight that drowned out any attempts at communication. Whenever I dared to open my mouth, she silenced me with a guttural growl, a warning sign that I was only fueling her anger.

So, I remained still, letting her vent her fury. The onslaught of objects hurled my way didn't matter as much as her well-being. I hoped that once her anger had subsided, she would be ready to listen.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she collapsed onto the bed, her sobs