I forced myself to remain calm, ignoring the tightening in my chest. My hand moved toward the plate of sweet and sour ribs in the center of the table, my fork poised to take a piece.
Before I could reach it, a sharp sting shot through my wrist as David slapped it away. “Who told you to eat that?” His voice was harsh, cutting through the awkward quiet like a whip. “Let go!”
Sarah flinched, her startled gaze darting between us. “David,” she said hesitantly, her tone a mixture of confusion and concern. “What’s wrong with the dish? Bianca loves this the most....”
David’s jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck standing out as he visibly struggled with something unspoken. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “Nothing. It’s just... her last checkup showed something concerning. This isn’t good for her to eat.”
The tension in the room was suffocating, every word weighted with unspoken emotions. Without a word, I stood, picked up my plate and carried it to the kitchen. The clatter of the plate as I set it on the counter echoed in the empty space, louder than it should have been.