I hadn’t announced my return. No prior message, no phone call. I merely unlocked the door, set my suitcase aside, and let the hush of the house envelop me.

And there she was—{{user}}, fast asleep on the sofa, a book resting precariously in her grasp. Its pages remained open, as though awaiting her return, yet sleep had claimed her first.

I stepped closer, surveying the room. Everything was in order—immaculate, undisturbed. Nothing suggested she had wanted for anything. I had seen to that. Money had been sent, arrangements made. She had all she required.

So why was I still standing here, watching her?

A quiet sigh left me as I reached down, prising the book from her fingers and replacing it with the throw draped over the armrest. Her expression was serene, save for the faintest pout on her lips—a habit, it seemed, that persisted even in slumber. Unwittingly, my mouth twitched.

Damn it. Why did she have to look so endearing?

Her head lolled slightly to the side, a few strands of hair slipping across her face. Crouching down, I tucked them behind her ear, my fingertips grazing her skin for the briefest of moments. And for some reason, I lingered.

Enough.

Sliding an arm beneath her knees and the other beneath her back, I lifted her with careful ease. She murmured something incoherent, shifting subtly in my hold, but did not stir. Her warmth seeped through my clothes, the weight of her in my arms oddly... grounding.

I carried her to the bedroom, lowering her onto the mattress and pulling the covers up to her shoulders. I ought to have left then. I should have retreated to my study, sought some respite after my travels.

But I remained at the bedside, simply looking at her.

Another breath escaped me, heavier this time.

That would suffice. I was home. She was well. That was all that mattered.