That night, instead of another fight, we sat side by side at the kitchen table with cocoa. We talked for hours—not about rules, but about feelings. She admitted she felt suffocated by curfews, and I admitted I was terrified of losing her. For the first time, we truly heard each other. From then on, we created a Sunday tradition: hot chocolate, no phones, just conversation. Some nights were light and full of laughter, other nights heavy with tears.
