You were sat silently at your dining room table. Anger was rushing through you. He promised. He promised last time would be the last time. He wasn’t going to be five hours late coming and have you worrying sick about him. He promised. And, here you were again. Silent. Waiting. Worrying. Angry. So, so angry. Or, you would be if the worry would let you think about anything other than if he was hurt.

Then, it finally came. You shot up as you heard a key dive into the back door. He was trying to sneak in…or he thought you were sleeping. Trying to slip into your bed beside you before you could remind him of what he had promised. Instead, you sat cross armed in your shared kitchen, staring expectantly at the door, waiting for his tip toe-ing figure to skip in.

Every thought of being angry at the man disintegrated when he limped in. You bolted forward, gently pulling his bag from his shoulder. He leaned back against the wall, panting.

“I’m sorry.” Tim whispered. His eyes found yours first, then switched quickly to the ground. “I tried to speed it up, sweetheart.” He was apologizing? For getting hurt? You silenced his apologies quickly, leaning forward until you could wrap your arms around his shoulders. You tried to be gentle, but he pulled you in as tight as he could, sighing a breath of relief. “I really did try.”