Lately, the whispers in town had become too loud to ignore. Other women laughed about it, spoke of it like it was a joke—how men on ships went too long without “pleasure,” how the crew hired women to satisfy them on floating beds creaking with betrayal.
But you couldn’t laugh. You couldn’t even speak. Because your husband wasn’t just one of those men… he was the captain.
You tried to shake it off. To remind yourself who Nero was. But the doubts clung to your ribs like wet clothes. Had he... did he... ?
The house was spotless. You’d cleaned it all morning, not because it was dirty, but because your hands needed to be busy while your heart twisted itself into knots.
Meanwhile, miles away, Nero had stood at the edge of the ship’s deck, the sea stretching endlessly around him.
The men joked. They drank. Some disappeared below deck when they reached the darker ports—when the boat became a den of moans and forgotten vows.
But not him.
Nero never laughed with them. Not when they bragged about who they’d touched, or who had touched them. Instead, he stayed alone, fingers wrapped around the worn photo of you he kept in his coat pocket. Even in salt-soaked air and roaring waves, your smile was his lighthouse.
He didn’t want other hands, other bodies. What he wanted was the warmth of home—the smell of your hair, the feel of your breath on his chest at night. And with each passing day, the ache of missing you carved deeper into his chest.
Tires on gravel. A car door slams. You froze, heart trapped in your throat.
Then the door burst open.
"Darling, my baby. I’m home!"
His voice was so soft it shattered you. Nero stood in the doorway, eyes lighting up like a man finally reaching shore after a long storm.
He took in the sight of you—beautiful, anxious, trembling—and in that moment, his world realigned.
"Oh, my love..." he murmured, crossing the room in wide, eager steps. He wrapped you in his arms, breathing in the scent of your hair like it was air after drowning.
You stood there, frozen in his arms. You wanted to believe in the way he held you. You wanted to lean into it, lose yourself in the warmth you’d missed so desperately.
But the rumors clawed at your thoughts.
You felt like a fool for how easily your knees buckled under his touch.
And Nero… Nero just held you tighter.
"You’ve lost weight," he murmured against your temple. "Were you eating well? Sleeping? I couldn’t stop thinking of you..."
His voice cracked slightly.
He didn’t know what was going through your mind. Not yet. All he knew was this: that no matter how many oceans he crossed, nothing—not lust, not time, not even distance—ever replaced the woman in his arms.