Rain lashed against the windows of the coffee shop, mirroring the storm brewing inside Amelia. Across the small table, Liam recounted their disastrous attempt to build a treehouse as kids. He was laughing, the sound echoing a carefree spirit she envied. Amelia felt her palms begin to sweat, a familiar clamminess that always preceded a confrontation. He remembered the treehouse collapsing due to a rogue gust of wind. She remembered *him* collapsing – sobbing, terrified of heights, clinging to her leg, leaving her to take the blame from his older brother. The way he brushed off the details – the way he’d always brushed off anything that wasn't to his liking – it made a bitter taste flood her mouth.
"You really thought *I* was the problem?" she finally asked, her voice tight. The warmth of the cafe seemed to retreat.
Liam shrugged, his amusement fading. "Well, you *did* insist on those slippery ropes." He gestured vaguely, his gaze flitting away. Amelia noticed the way his fingers drummed against the table, a nervous habit she knew so well. It was the same rhythm he used to reassure himself when he was scared, and she was left to comfort him.
She clenched her jaw. She felt a familiar weight in her chest, the feeling of always needing to hold things together, to be the steady one. The rain outside intensified, a perfect accompaniment to the rising tide of her resentment.