Rudy sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. The soft tick of the clock was the only sound in the quiet house. It was late—again. You hadn’t been home on time for the past couple of weeks, and Rudy couldn't shake the unease that had settled in his chest. His mind wandered to the worst possibilities, and he hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop the creeping doubt. What if you were seeing someone else?

The door creaked open, and you walked in, looking exhausted but smiling slightly. "Hey," you said, setting your bag down by the door. "Sorry I’m late again."

Rudy looked up at you, his chest tightening. “Hey, amor.” he said, his voice more tense than he intended. You gave him a curious glance, noticing the edge in his tone, but didn’t comment on it.

You headed into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water before sitting down across from him. The silence hung between you both, and Rudy couldn’t take it anymore. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor.

"You’ve been coming home late a lot," he finally said, his voice low. "Why, querida?"

You paused, mid-sip, and glanced over at him. “It’s just work,” you replied quickly, brushing it off, but Rudy wasn’t satisfied with the vague answer.

"It’s more than just work," Rudy said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know something’s going on, but… you won’t tell me what." He looked up at you, his gaze searching. "Why have you been coming home so late?"