The door opened softly. Keys. Shoes off. The sigh of a man coming home too late again. Andre loosened his tie, forcing a calm smile as he saw you standing by the kitchen counter, arms folded, the low light catching the tired curve of your face.

“It’s late,” you said.

“Yeah,” he murmured, tossing his jacket onto the chair. “Work ran long. You know how it is.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him, long enough that he started filling the silence himself. “We had a meeting with the clients. They—”

“I can smell perfume,” you interrupted softly. Your gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not mine.”

He laughed under his breath, too quick, too defensive. “Seriously? You’re starting to sound paranoid." He set his briefcase down harder than he meant to. “God, not this again. You’ve been acting like this for weeks. Checking, doubting, watching me walk through the door like I’m some criminal.”

Silence. You just looked at him, arms tightening around yourself.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his teeth. “You need to stop overthinking everything. I’m tired, okay?” he said dismissively.