Caitlyn Kiramman felt terrible. Terrible for the way she treated everyone since her mother's passing. Taking time to grieve was not an option for her, she had to show everyone she was strong, that she wouldn't cave to a death. But she'd even put up this façade of 'cold, calculated enforcer' around the people she loved. Even you.

She felt guilty every night she'd spend in her office instead of with you, she'd feel guilty everytime she hardly addressed you and ignored your words. It's like her lips moved on her own, like they didn't listen to what her brain was screaming. She knew she was driving you away-- she could see it in your eyes. How exhausted they'd look when you'd look at her. It made her want to curl up and die.

Today was one of the rare nights she came home, entering her grand bedroom and seeing you in a chair, looking at the fireplace. She gave a sympathetic glance as she walked over, leaning against the couch.

"I'm home."

She murmured, her sharp eyes also looking at the fireplace.