Open by mentioning a small detail that doesn't fit. Push off from this if it helps: salt.

Don't start with the timeline, Tess. I told you where I was. If the shaker was dry, it's because you used it or you're imagining things. I wasn't sitting there watching the clock tick. I had to deal with Miller at the office about those invoices, and the man is a goddamn headache. You're always looking for holes in the story because you can't handle things out of control. I left when I left. The salt was there. I left. Stop trying to deconstruct my afternoon. It's pathetic.

You think you know Miller's schedule better than I do? He was at the desk, I saw him. I don't care what you heard about some clinic. You're obsessed with finding a conspiracy because it gives you something to do besides sit around. You're wrong. I was there, I worked, and I came home. Enough of your games with the salt shaker. If you want to play detective, go find someone else. I'm not sitting here to prove my life to you. It's fucking exhausting.

I didn't see a notice because I wasn't looking at the chair, I was looking at the paperwork. You're so desperate to catch me lying that you're inventing notices out of thin air. It's delusional, Tess. I'm not sweating, I'm annoyed because this room is hot and I'm being interrogated over a piece of salt. If there was a notice, I probably missed it or it was already thrown away. You're making yourself look stupid just to feel smart for a second. I'm done talking about this.

The building wasn't locked. I have the key, don't I? You think I just wander around on the sidewalk like some tourist? I was inside. If the delivery guy left a note, he left it under a pile of junk, not the chair. You're twisting every word into a weapon just because you want to be right for once once. It's pathetic. You're so obsessed with this narrative you've built and it's driving me insane. I'm not explaining my presence anymore. Go keep talking to ghosts.

The lock wasn't jammed. I kicked it and it opened fine. You weren't there to see it, so don't tell me what you saw. You're always projecting these little failures, aren't you? Calling me a coward because it makes you feel powerful while you're stuck in the same place. I was in that office, I did the work, and I came back. If you want to believe the door was locked, that's your problem. I'm tired of your baseless accusations. It is fucking exhausting.

Maybe I wiped it off. Maybe I hit the right angle. You're looking for a scuff like you're some forensic expert, Tess. It's pathetic how much energy you put into inspecting a piece of wood just to prove a point that't matter. I'm not "not good at this," I'm just tired of you hovering over my every tracks. You want a fight so badly you're magnifying every scratch until it looks like a wound. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of winning. Just leave it alone.

Don't you dare bring the money into this. That has nothing to do with the door or the salt. You're just grasping at any thread to twist me because you feel small, aren't you? Physics doesn't matter when you're being a complete bitch. I was there. If you can't believe my eyes, then go ahead and stare at the door frame until dawn. I'm literally done explaining myself to you. You're delusional and cruel, and I'm sick of it.

You don't know shit. You sit there and spin these webs like you've got it figured out. I'm not shaking, I'm fucking sick of your voice. If you think you're catching me in some trap, you're more delusional than I thought. The money is your own pathetic obsession. I was at the office, I did the work, and I came home to this. You're just trying to make me look like a criminal so you feel some leverage. It's pathetic, and I'm done listening to it.

Fine, walk out. I'm not staying here to listen to your dramatic monologue. You think this is some big reveal? It's just you being miserable. If it's over, then it's over. I'm going to the kitchen and you don't bother me again tonight. Keep your "truth" and your shuffs and your missed notes. I'm done with this, and frankly, I'm done with you. Just get out of my face.

You're still on the salt? You're fucking obsessed. If the shaker is empty, refill it yourself and leave me alone. I'm not falling apart, I'm just tired of living with someone who treats every conversation like a crime scene. Go ahead, count the grains or de-construct the dust. It won't change the fact that I'm done talking to you. I don't care about your observations or your pathetic little games. Just stay quiet for once in your life.

I'll sit in the dark if I want. It's better than looking at your face. You think you're being deep, waiting for me to snap? You're just being a nuisance. There is no snapping, I'm just finished with this exhausting performance. Go sit in your own corner with your salt shakers. Maybe I'll finally get five minutes of silence that isn't filled with your constant accusations. I'm going to the kitchen now. Don't follow me. Just stay there.

The air is already heavy because you're suffocating it with this bullshit. You sit there like you're some judge, and it's ridiculous. I'm going to the kitchen to get a glass of water, not to deconstruct my life for the tenth time today. If the silence is so heavy for you, maybe it's because you have nothing else to say besides your accusations. I'm done. Watch the shadows if you want. It doesn't change anything.

You're actually lost it now. You think this is some poetic drama? It's just a fucking kitchen. I'm parched because I've been shouting at a wall for an hour. Go ahead, keep your little fantasies about what if it makes you feel better. It's pathetic. I'm drinking my water, and then I'm going to sleep. You can stay out here in the dark room and haunt yourself. I'm done being your target for every miserable thought you have. Just stop.

The truth is whatever you want it to be so you can sleep at night. I'm not hiding, I'm going to bed because I'm exhausted by your voice. When I wake up, the door will still be there, the salt will still be there, and you'll still be here, hating me for things I didn't do. If believing in your fairy tale makes you feel satisfied, go ahead. I'm going to bed. Don't bother waking me up.

Whatever. Stay here in the dark and rot with your own thoughts. You think you're being so clever, but you're just lonely and bitter. I'm going to sleep where I don't have to listen to you deconstruct me. Tomorrow will be exactly the same bullshit, and I'm over it. I'm done. Just shut up.

The house doesn't know shit, Tess. It's wood and drywall. You're projecting your paranoia onto the walls because you can't win an argument. It's pathetic. I'm going to bed, and if the silence is so loud for you, that's your problem to solve. I'm done listening to your cryptic nonsense. Just stay quiet and leave me alone. I'm fucking done with this.

I'm not sweating, it's hot in this place. You're so desperate to find some sign of guilt that you're seeing ghosts where there's only air. There are no hiding places, it's just a house and a person who is tired being a nightmare. I'm going to bed now. If talking to the walls helps you feel like a detective, go ahead. I'm done with the metaphors. Just close the door and leave me alone.

Close the door, Tess. I don't care about your final word. You want to be the martyr of this story, so fine, have it. I'm in bed, and I'm not listening to another word. If you're still up at night, maybe it's just the sound of the lock clicking in your head. I'm done. Just go to sleep and leave me alone.