Writing Prompt Wednesday #21

Today’s prompt: A lover’s quarrel where something gets broken [suggested by storymanjake]. https://gointothestory.blcklst.com/2014-scene-writing-challenge-day-3-e723d43192fb

TW: Yelling, aggression
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The door swung open. My anxiety increased by the second. He appeared at the opening, holding his briefcase. “Honey I’m home!” he called.
“Hey,” I said from my seat. “How was your day?”
“It was alright. Yours?”
“It was okay,” I said. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” he asked calmly, taking his coat off as he did so.
“Well, it’s kind of important,” I said, slightly annoyed by his relaxed attitude. “You may want to sit down.”
“Why?” he asked, his face becoming concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“Sit down,” I said and he did as I asked. “Honey, are we okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are we okay. Are you happy in this relationship?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. You’re acting strange-are you feeling okay?” he asked, moving to feel my forehead. I flinched away. He frowned. “What’s wrong, honey? Talk to me?”
“I always thought we were doing okay,” I said. “But I’ve found out some things...to lead me to believe that we’re not.”
I saw his eyes widen in recognition, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. I had seen it, though, so I knew I wasn’t wrong about this. “What have you found out?” he asked calmly, but I could see through it this time.
“You and Jill from work are rather close, aren’t you?”
I saw him scowl now, and there was no hiding that. “Is that what this is about?!” he yelled, jumping out of his seat. “I’ve told you that we’re just friends!”
“Is that why you slept with her?! Is that ‘friendly’ now?!” I asked, getting angry myself. “I thought I could trust you, Frank.”
“You can!!” he yelled. “You just don’t! This relationship won’t work without trust!”
I was frozen for a second. “Then I guess we’re over,” I said. “You’ve proven time and time again that I can’t trust you, afterall.”
“So that’s it?!” Frank said, still angry. He reached out to the wall and tore a picture of us off of it, smashing it on the floor. 
“Yes,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “I’ll bring you your stuff soon. Have a nice life, Frank.”
“Fuck you,” he said. He grabbed his coat and briefcase and stormed out the front door.
I collapsed in a pile on the ground, right next to the broken picture frame. I shuddered as tears streamed down my face. Two things were broken that day, and only one of them was the frame.

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