It started over something small.
Adrian had bought her a dress — black and expensive, hanging in his closet in her size — for a gala she'd mentioned once in passing, weeks ago.
"You bought me a dress," she said, staring at it.
"Yes."
"You didn't ask."
"I knew your size."
"You bought me a dress, Adrian." Her voice climbed. "You buy my clothes. You keep my toothbrush. You fed my plant while I was—wait, no, you bought the plant. The plant I never asked for, that lives on your balcony—"
"You're spiraling."
"I'm noticing!" She spun on him. "You've built an entire life around me and you never asked once, and now there's a dress and it's like — it's like you've decided, and I never got a say—"
"You can say no to the dress."
"I don't want to say no to the dress! That's the problem!"
He
