You’ve been married for three years.
She’s your calm and your chaos — affectionate to a fault, always needing you nearby even when she’s distracted.
But she forgets sometimes that your silence isn’t distance — it’s peace.
And when your head’s already full — the phone, the laundry, the endless list of things to do — one extra sound can feel like an avalanche.
The house was too bright, too noisy, too alive.
The TV was on — football replay, volume just a little higher than it should’ve been — and she was leaned back into the couch, totally at ease, a beer half-finished beside her.
You’d been pacing the house, trying to calm yourself — folding things, straightening things, doing anything to keep from snapping.
Every sound felt magnified.
The hum of the fridge. The clock ticking. Her voice, low and careless, drifting over the game.
“Hey, baby—” she said, right when you passed behind the couch. She looked up at you, grin lazy, voice full of something that usually made your chest warm.
But right now, it just added to the everything.
You didn’t even think.
You just reached out and lightly smacked her shoulder as you walked by — not hard, not angry, just please, stop for a second.
She froze, blinking up at you, the smile slipping in slow confusion. “…What was that for?”
You stopped halfway to the kitchen, shoulders rising with a shaky breath.
“I just—” you sighed. “I can’t do noise right now, okay? I’m—” your throat caught, “—just tired. Everything’s loud.”
The game still played behind her, commentators roaring through the speaker.
But she didn’t look back at the screen.
She muted the TV without a word, sat forward on her knees, elbows on them, watching you.
“Hey,” she said softly, all that rowdy tone gone now. “Come here.”
You hesitated, but she patted her thigh, that small gesture that said you’re safe, come down from it.
When you sank beside her, she reached out — not with a grab, just a light hand resting on your leg.
“Didn’t know I was addin’ to it,” she murmured, voice lower, careful. “You coulda just said so, sweetheart.”
“I know,” you mumbled, leaning into her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to hit you.”
She chuckled, brushing her thumb against your knee. “You barely tapped me. I’ve been hit harder by door frames.”