It began, as so often, with a simple misunderstanding.
She said something he thought was wrong, but he’d misheard her. When he questioned her, she took his tone to be accusatory, which he didn’t intend. From there, things spiraled out of control.
In no time, he had a sharp kitchen knife in his hand, she, the rolling pin. She made pastry, he sliced apples. The time that it needed in the oven was just enough to sort things in bed.
It’s how they always settled arguments. The apple pie was slightly overdone on this occasion, but neither of them cared.