He hesitated, hand poised above the carved wooden door, knuckles brushing against its surface. Beyond it lay everything he’d wanted to protect—his wife, {{user}}, and their child, the son he had yet to meet. The son born in his absence.

The door creaked open, and there she was, standing by the window, her back to him. The setting sun bathed her in golden light, highlighting the weary set of her shoulders. She held the baby in her arms, her posture protective, as though she feared he might vanish if she let go. Gwayne’s chest tightened at the sight. This was his family, his blood, yet a gulf seemed to yawn between them.

“{{user}},” he began, his voice softer than he intended, almost a plea.

She didn’t turn around. “You’re back,” she said flatly, the words carrying no warmth.

He stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud. “I came as soon as I could,” he said, though even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. “The summons from King’s Landing—”

“The King needed you,” she interrupted, her tone sharp enough to cut. “I know. The realm is always more important than your family.”

He flinched but couldn’t argue. The truth of it was undeniable. Duty had called him away, and he had answered, as any Hightower would. Yet standing here now, seeing the distance in her eyes, he wondered if his duty had cost him too much.

“I thought of you every day,” he said, taking a cautious step closer. “Of you and our child. I didn’t want to leave—”