[ the sound of cutlery and glass clutter loudly when manuela's hands suddenly come down on the table, her carefully crafted control shattering the second he pushes back. that isn't supposed to happen. on the script, off the script — the husband wasn't supposed to care enough to fling any acid back at her. in a way, the lack of apathy is even more devastating; hope can be so very cruel in a situation like this. ]

I will do what I want.

[ why is she still so surprised how cutting his words could be? that time in the basement should have prepared her well enough for it, and yet here she is victim to their edge again. she should have steeled herself by now. ]

Which would include spending time with you, if I knew you wouldn't be so utterly miserable every second of it.