It was strange, the way your life had turned out.

An arranged marriage to a man you barely knew — a soldier, always gone, always carrying something heavy you weren’t allowed to ask about.

Keegan P. Russ.

Months had passed, and nothing really changed.

You lived in the same house, but it never felt like it.

He left before you woke up. Came back long after you’d gone to bed. Some days, you weren’t even sure if he’d been home at all.

And when you did cross paths—

“How was your day?” you had asked once.

“Fine.”

That was it. No glance. No pause. Just the sound of his boots walking away.

Tonight was no different.

Light spilled from his office into the dark hallway, the faint scratch of a pen and the occasional shuffle of papers breaking the silence. The door was slightly open — it always was when he worked late.