The old house loomed at the end of the gravel path, its windows like hollow eyes. Claire shivered as she stepped out of the car, clutching her overnight bag. “This is supposed to fix us?” she muttered, casting a skeptical glance at Jack.

Jack forced a smile, though his grip on their shared suitcase tightened. “The ad said it’s therapeutic. Face your fears, rekindle your bond. Besides, it’s just one night.”

Inside, the house was eerily quiet. Dust clung to the air, and the wooden floors creaked underfoot. A single letter waited on the table in the entryway: “Welcome. The night is what you make of it.”

They laughed nervously, unpacked, and settled into the cold bedroom. By midnight, the house’s chill seeped into their bones, and the silence felt oppressive.

Then, it began.

The first argument came out of nowhere. Claire found herself standing in the kitchen, her voice rising. “You never listen to me, Jack! I told you I wanted to handle the finances, and you went behind my back anyway!”

Jack’s face twisted in confusion. “What are you talking about? That was three years ago!”

But the scene played on as if they were puppets, their words spilling out uncontrollably. When it ended, they were back in the bedroom, gasping like they’d surfaced from underwater.

“What was that?” Claire whispered, her voice shaking.

Jack shook his head, panic in his eyes. “I don’t know. Let’s just—”

Before he could finish, the air around them shifted, and they were in the living room, mid-fight again.

“You’re always late, Jack!” Claire yelled, her voice cracking. “Do you even care about our time together?”

Jack’s face burned with frustration. “Maybe if you weren’t always nagging, I’d want to be home more!”

The fight ended abruptly, and they were back in the bedroom, drenched in sweat and horror.

“It’s making us relive everything,” Claire whispered, clutching Jack’s arm.

“We need to leave,” Jack said, heading for the door. But the hallway stretched infinitely, twisting and turning back to the same room no matter which way they ran.

The house wasn’t letting them go.

Each loop dragged them deeper into their shared history, replaying every fight, every sharp word, every wound they thought had healed. The house seemed to feed on their pain, amplifying their worst moments until they began to doubt the love that had brought them there.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Claire sobbed after what felt like hours. “We’ve been tearing each other apart for years. Maybe this is who we are.”

Jack dropped to his knees, his face in his hands. “No. This can’t be it. We can’t let this place define us.”

Claire hesitated, then knelt beside him. “Then what do we do?”

Jack looked at her, his eyes filled with desperation—and something else. Determination. “We stop fighting. Right now. We forgive each other.”

Claire’s breath hitched, but she nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jack replied, his voice breaking.

The air shifted again, but this time it wasn’t pulling them into another argument. The house seemed to groan, the walls trembling as if in protest. Light seeped into the cracks, blinding them, and then—silence.

When they opened their eyes, they were standing outside, the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon. The house was gone, replaced by an empty field.

Claire turned to Jack, her hand finding his. “Was it real?”

Jack squeezed her hand. “Does it matter?”

They walked back to the car in silence, the echoes of their past left behind with the house, and for the first time in years, they felt free.