Unspilled Drops
The pungent scent of carbolic acid wafted from the floor Rayden Armon had just mopped. Every drag and push of the mop across the cool porcelain tiles was a rhythm he had memorized over the past three years. This was the rhythm of his life: silent, monotonous, and almost invisible in the modest luxury of the Carrason family home.
Three years ago, he had married Rania Carrason. The marriage was no fairy tale, but a strange arrangement that rescued Rayden from the streets and gave the Carrason family the unenviable status of having a son-in-law, even though he was considered nothing more than an unemployed freeloader.
"Rayden!"
The sharp voice broke the silence. Clarisa Carrason, his mother-in-law, stood at the top of the stairs with her arms crossed. Her expensive silk housedress contrasted sharply with the contemptuous glance she cast down.
"It's almost dinnertime and you're still working on the floor? Don't you have anything else to do?" she sneered. Of course, she knew Rayden had nothing else to do. That was the punchline of her daily joke.
Rayden didn't answer. He simply paused, straightened his back, and then resumed his work with a calmness that often irritated Clarisa even more.
"Today is your third wedding anniversary, you know?" Clarisa continued, descending the stairs with deliberate, stomping steps. "For three years you've eaten from our plates, slept under our roof. What have you given my daughter? Besides dirty laundry and shame, what?"
Rayden stopped mopping the floor. He stared at his own reflection in the polished tiles. A thin man in faded clothes and an unreadable expression.
"I'm sorry, Mom," was all he said. His voice was flat, emotionless.
"I'm sorry I can't pay the bill," Clarisa hissed, now standing just a few steps away. "I really don't understand what Rania sees in you. I really don't understand."
That was when Rania came home. She looked exhausted after a long day at her family's logistics company. Her beautiful face was twisted by the interaction between her mother and her husband. It was an all-too-common sight.
"Mom, that's enough," Rania said quietly, setting her handbag on the table. "I'm tired. Please, not now."
"It's because you're tired! You're working so hard while your husband plays the part of a servant in his own home," Clarisa retorted sharply before finally turning away and heading towards the kitchen.
Rania took a deep breath. She walked over to Rayden. From her pocket, she pulled out a few slightly crumpled bills.
"Here," she whispered, handing them to Rayden. "For tonight. Buy something... a small gift or whatever. Consider it my way of commemorating this day."
Rayden looked at the money in his wife's hand, then turned to Rania, her eyes filled with exhaustion and a hint of pity. It was that pity that hurt the most. He didn't take the money.
"I've prepared it," Rayden replied softly.
Rania raised her eyebrows, doubtful. "Prepared what? Don't tell me you're going to give me another poem like last year."
Rayden only smiled faintly, a rare smile that barely reached his eyes. "Just have dinner first."
The dinner table felt like a cold battlefield. Clarisa kept throwing veiled sarcasm, while Rayden's father-in-law silently read the news on his tablet, seemingly unconcerned. Rania tried to lighten the mood, but her efforts were in vain.
The tension reached its peak when Clarisa placed a bowl of hot corn soup in the center of the table.
"Look, Rania. Even to celebrate your anniversary, I have to cook your favorite soup," Clarisa said, glancing sharply at Rayden. As she withdrew her hand, her elbow accidentally bumped the porcelain bowl.
Time seemed to slow down.
The bowl tilted, and the steaming corn soup slid down, ready to spill onto Rania's hand, which was right in its path.
Rania gasped, reflexively withdrawing her hand, but it was too late.
Clarisa smiled with satisfaction for a split second.
However, before the first drop could touch the tablecloth, a shadow moved.
Rayden's movements were so fluid, so efficient, they were almost invisible. Her hand, which normally held only a mop, shot forward with impossible speed. Her fingers didn't try to catch the falling bowl. Instead, with a light touch on the bottom of the bowl, she canceled its falling momentum. With an elegant flick of her wrist, she spun the bowl back to its upright position, then gently pushed it to a stop in the center of the table.
It all happened in a split second.
There was no clink. No soup spilled. Not even a drop. The bowl returned to its place as if gravity were just a suggestion she ignored.
Silence.
Her father-in-law lowered his tablet.
Clarisa froze, the smug smile on her face turning into a look of silly shock.
Rania stared at her husband, her mouth slightly open. She saw the movement. It made no sense. Quick, precise, and calm. It wasn't a reflex. It was something else.
Rayden pulled his hand back as if nothing had happened. He picked up his spoon and looked at Rania.
"Careful, it's still hot," he said in the same flat tone as always.
But in the silence of the dinner table, everyone knew. The man they had considered trash for three years... was hiding something beneath his ordinary exterior.