Michael held me back with all his strength, trying to stop me from lunging at her.

But Hannah continued to taunt me, "Come on then! Yeah, I'm seeing other men, so what? If you've got the guts, kill me!"

"Hannah, enough! Stop talking like that!" Emily was also struggling to keep Hannah down.

I was shaking with rage, and I yelled at Michael, "Let me go! I'm going to kill her!"

"Hey, calm down!" Michael shouted back. "She's just saying it in anger! Don't do anything rash!"

Calm down? How could I calm down? I wanted to tear that vile woman apart!

Just then, the door opened. My parents were home from work.

They both worked overtime, even on weekends and holidays, just to ensure Hannah's so-called "quality of life."

Especially my Dad, who'd been diagnosed with cancer a year ago but still pushed himself to work. No matter how much I begged him to stop, he insisted that he'd promised Hannah's father on his deathbed to take care of her.

The moment my parents saw the scene in the living room, they panicked.

"What's going on here?" My mom rushed over to help Michael hold me back.

My Dad, meanwhile, went straight to check on Hannah, who was concerned. "Hannah, what's happening?"

Hannah sneered at him and said, "What's happening? Why don't you ask your son what's going on? He's trying to kill me! If you had come home a little later, I'd be dead by now!"

She burst into tears, and I had to admire her acting skills.

My Dad's face darkened instantly. He didn't even ask for an explanation; he just walked over and slapped me across the face.

"Are you lost your mind?" he shouted angrily.

I was stunned. Michael and Emily were stunned. No one expected this.

I stared at my Dad in disbelief. "Dad, you're not even going to ask what happened? It's not like Hannah said. You can ask Michael..."

"I don't care what happened. You don't ever hit Hannah!" My Dad cut me off, his voice booming with anger.

There it was again.

Ever since Hannah moved in, no matter what caused our arguments, my parents always took her side without question.

My voice trembled as I tried to explain, "Dad, I didn't hit her. She..."

My Dad completely ignored me and turned back to check on Hannah.

Seeing how things had escalated, Michael exchanged a glance with Emily, and the two quickly made their excuses and left.

After my mom saw them out, she went straight to the kitchen. My Dad stayed with Hannah, fussing over her without even glancing my way.

At dinner, neither of them said a word to me.

As for Hannah, they knocked on her door several times to call her to eat, but she just locked herself inside and ignored them.

I felt like an outsider in my own home.

That night, when I tried to go back to my room to sleep, Hannah kicked me out. She even threw my blanket out after me and slammed the door shut, locking it behind her.

I wanted to barge in and slap her, but with my parents in the house, I had no choice but to swallow my anger and head to the living room.

In the middle of the night, I got so hungry that I couldn't stand it anymore. I went to the kitchen and reheated three tacos Michael had brought over earlier.

The tacos needed about ten minutes to warm up, so I went to the bathroom while I waited.

When I came back, I was furious to see that Hannah had taken a bite out of each taco and then thrown them all on the floor.

"What kind of disgusting tacos are these? They're terrible!" she said with a huff, slamming the pot lid down as she left the kitchen.

I snapped. Grabbing her by the arm, I yelled, "What the hell is wrong with you? Those were the tacos I heated for myself! You take one bite out of each and just throw them on the floor?!"

Hannah shouted back even louder, "What the hell is wrong with you?! If you want to eat, go ahead and eat! Did I stop you?"

"They're on the floor! How the hell am I supposed to eat them now?" I demanded.

She sneered, "Not my problem!"

That was it. My rage boiled over. I pushed her back, "I'm telling you right now, you're going to eat every one of those tacos off the floor, or this isn't over!"

Hannah was not only a reckless spender, but she also had a terrible habit of wasting things. I had to deal with her problem once and for all today!

But Hannah didn't care at all. She shook me off forcefully, shouting, "Fuck off!"

She swung a slap at me, and I quickly dodged, reaching out to grab her again. Unexpectedly, her face lurched forward and collided with my hand.

Hannah instantly exploded. "Ouch! You actually dared to hit me? I'll fight you to the death!"

She screamed like a madwoman and threw herself at me.

She clawed and hit me with such rage that if she had a knife, I knew she would have stabbed me without hesitation.

My parents, startled by the noise, rushed out of their room.

My Dad stormed in, shouting at me, "Matthew, what do you think you're doing? Let her go!"

He rushed over, trying to pull me off and wedge himself between me and Hannah to shield her.

My mom, equally furious, joined in, yelling, "Why haven't you let go yet? Are you trying to kill your father with stress?"

I did want to let her go.

But Hannah was relentlessly attacking me, paying no mind to my Dad trying to separate us.

In the chaos, as my Dad pushed me aside, Hannah, whether by accident or on purpose, suddenly slapped him across the face.

Everyone froze in shock.

"Hannah! Are you out of your mind?!"

I roared, ready to pounce on her again.

But my Dad barked at me, "Get back!"

Startled, I stopped in my tracks. My Dad turned to Hannah and pleaded softly, "Hannah, please stop. Don't be angry anymore. I'm begging you."

Hannah stood there with her neck stiff, her cheeks puffed out in rage. She showed no guilt whatsoever for having hit my Dad.

Still glaring at me, she shouted at my Dad, "Fine, then slap him twice for me, and I'll calm down!"

My Dad glanced at me with an angry glare but continued to speak softly to Hannah, "Hannah, he's your husband. How can a couple fight so bitterly over every little thing? You should..."

"I knew it. You're all on his side! I'm just an outsider here!" Hannah screamed.

My Dad quickly tried to reassure her, "Of course not, Hannah! Every time you two fight, haven't I always taken your side? We..."

"Enough! I don't want to hear it! All of you, get out!" Hannah suddenly shoved my Dad, stormed off to the bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.

My Dad nearly fell to the ground, but luckily, my mom and I caught him in time.

Still, he didn't give me a break. He glared at me angrily, shook off my hand, and spat, "This is all your fault!"

I looked to my mom for support, but all she said was, "Stop upsetting your father," before walking away.

I couldn't understand what I had done wrong.

In the following days, I did my best to avoid Hannah. I didn't engage with her, hoping that keeping my distance would avoid any further conflicts.

But strangely, even though we weren't arguing and I wasn't stressing out my Dad, he continued to frequently clutch his chest in pain, his face twisting as if someone was physically ripping his heart out.

Whether we were eating, taking a walk, or just sitting around watching TV, my Dad would suddenly be overtaken by sharp pain, his forehead breaking out in sweat. Watching him suffer tore at my heart.

Then, one evening, during dinner, it happened again. My Dad clutched his chest, his face contorting in agony, every muscle in his face tightening in pain.

I quickly said, "Dad, maybe we should go to the hospital. This is serious."

His hand trembled as he tried to hold his fork, his head dropping onto the table. "It's... nothing... I just ate too quickly. Give me a moment and I'll..."

My mom was beside him, gently massaging his chest, but it didn't help at all.

Worried, I insisted, "You're clearly in pain. We need to get you to the hospital now!"

Suddenly, Hannah slammed her fork down and yelled at me, "Will you shut up already? Your Dad said he just needs a minute, and here you are, nagging! Can we not have a peaceful meal?!"