As John entered the property of the ranch, the familiar sights of home were a sharp contrast to the heavy feeling in his chest. He hadn’t planned on being gone this long—two weeks was far more than the few days he’d promised. The distance from his family had gnawed at him, and his conscience was even worse. He’d told himself time and again that it was all for them, that he was doing the right thing, but the reality of it stung just the same.

His boots echoed on the wooden floor as he crossed the threshold of the house, the weight of every step pulling at him. He took off his hat, trying to shake off the coldness of the world outside, but it was clear that his wife would see through the attempt.

There she was, standing in the middle of the room—{{user}}. Her expression said it all before she even spoke. John opened his mouth, but the words stuck. The silence between them felt like a canyon that only he had created.

He could feel the roughness of his hand as he ran it through his hair, a nervous habit that never seemed to go away. “I… I’m sorry,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. He could barely bring himself to look at her, the shame too much to bear. “I know I should’ve been here sooner, but… it ain’t been easy.”