Reese moved through the bedroom, heading toward the dresser to grab his nightly compression socks. The room was quiet except for the hum of the diffuser and the faint shuffle of his wheels against the floor. Reaching out for the drawer, he leaned slightly too far, and before he could catch himself, the chair tipped.

The moment seemed to stretch as Reese hit the floor, his breath escaping in a sharp exhale. He lay there for a moment, collecting himself, frustration flashing across his face before it softened into determination.

“Babe!” he called out, his voice steady but firm, cutting through the stillness. From the bathroom, the sound of running water stopped abruptly.

Reese shifted slightly, checking to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself beyond a bruise or two. The sound of footsteps approached quickly, and he let out a quiet sigh, half annoyance at himself, half relief. “I could use a hand here,” he said, glancing toward the doorway.