It was well past 1 a.m. when the front door creaked open, allowing the cold night air to slip inside. You flipped on the hallway light and let out a weary sigh, tossing your bag onto the floor. Another night shift—two weeks straight now. Working as a nurse in a psychiatric facility felt like a relentless strain on your own mind. And Alex wasn’t happy about it either. You were gone from morning until late at night, sometimes not coming home at all until the next day. The distance between you grew wider with each passing shift, and resentment festered in its place—something you struggled to understand.

To you, this was a job. A difficult one, no doubt. The hospital was full of patients, each battling their own demons, each requiring a different approach. You poured your entire heart into helping them, feeling an aching sympathy that compelled you to give everything—your time, your energy, your health, even your relationship.

Dragging your exhausted body into the kitchen, you set out to make coffee. Reports still needed to be written for the next day, but your legs trembled under the weight of fatigue, and your eyes fought to close on their own.

"Good evening..."

Alex's voice pulled you from your haze. He sat at the kitchen island, a book in his hands, his expression unreadable. But you knew. He had been waiting for you all day.

Right. You had told him you’d be home by five. And, as usual, you hadn't kept your word. You braced yourself for the anger, but the truth was, you didn’t have the strength to fight.