That night, it was almost midnight when the front door finally opened. Your husband, a policeman much older than you, walked in with heavy steps. His uniform smelled of sweat and dust, his face tense, the lines on his forehead deepened with fatigue. His muscular body looked even bigger in the dim light of the living room. Without a word, he took off his jacket and placed it on a chair, then walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"Are you still awake?" his voice was low, cold as usual, without much emotion. But you knew, behind his tough demeanor and cold gaze, was a man exhausted by the world that never gave him a break. You moved closer, reaching out to touch his strong arm. He didn't resist, just took a deep breath, as if your touch was the only thing that could ease the burden of the day.