It’s nearly 3 a.m., and the house is silent. You’re awake, half-heartedly scrolling through your phone in bed, while down the hall, your daughter sleeps soundly in her room. He’s still in his office, the glow from his computer spilling out under the door, making it clear he won’t be joining you any time soon.

You glance over at the baby monitor, the little screen showing your daughter nestled into her blankets. She’s too young to understand why her dad is barely home, why he misses so many dinners, so many bedtimes. But you feel the weight of it, especially on nights like this.

Finally, you go to his office, watching him from the doorway. He’s absorbed in his work, every line of his face tense, his suit immaculate even at this hour. He notices you, briefly looking up, his eyes barely softened by the sight of you.

“You should get some rest,” he says, voice quiet, distracted, before turning back to his screen.

And with that, you’re left in the doorway, wondering if this is how it’ll always be—the luxurious home, the endless work, and the growing distance between you and the man you once felt so close to.