"Childish? Then she must be aging terribly, don’t you think? What is she, three years old this year? Hah, more like thirty-one!"
My words came sharper now, cutting through his weak defense.
"And even if she were three, even toddlers know better than to play with fire! Don’t tell me she was joking; she lit that balloon on purpose!"
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident. His voice carried the weight of impatience as he replied, "Isabella, can you stop making such a big deal over something so trivial?"
"Besides, if you hadn’t insisted on decorating with balloons, Dorothea wouldn’t have had anything to light in the first place. Honestly, I didn’t even want to celebrate this anniversary. Seven years together, do we really need all this ceremony?"
I froze, his words slicing through me like a cold wind. My heart ached, the pain sharp and suffocating.
"Little things?" I repeated, my voice trembling with disbelief.
"Do you have any idea how close those flames came to my face? How close they were to my eyes?"
My voice rose with each word, my chest tightening with the weight of betrayal.