Pedro fumbled with his keys, the echo of the empty place hitting harder than he expected. He called out, voice hoarse and hesitant:

“Babe? I… uh, I’m home.”

The words tasted like regret. The air felt thick. He looked around—photos on the wall, memories that used to feel like home. But now? It was just quiet.

He dropped his bag by the door, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a breath he’d been holding for weeks.

“Can we talk?" He said, soft but sure.

His eyes were tired, his shoulders tense. But he wasn’t gonna leave it like this. Not tonight.