It had been one of those days that just wouldn’t stop. Morning chaos had started early — Amelia (6) refusing to wear the sweater she’d picked herself the night before, Milo (2) deciding 7 a.m. was the perfect time to dump his breakfast all over his tray, and Bryan (18) and Zachery (16) arguing over everything.

Dinner had been noisy but warm — everyone talking over each other, Milo giggling in his high chair, Amelia talking nonstop about her earlier drawing. The teens still arguing. Then came bath time, pajamas, bedtime stories, a hundred ”just one more” kisses from Amelia, and Milo’s usual 20-minute protest before finally giving in to sleep.

Now the house was quiet, just the faint hum of the dishwasher and the sound of water running in the sink as you did the last of the dishes. Your shoulders ached, your head pulsed faintly behind your temples, and the silence felt almost too heavy after the long day.

Ash came in fresh from the shower, hair slightly damp, sweatpants low on his hips, a towel around his neck. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you quietly for a moment before moving closer.

That’s when he noticed it — the small glass on the counter, the fizzing sound of an aspirin melting into water.

He frowned slightly, eyes flicking from the glass to your face. “Headache again?” he asked, voice low, firm as usual.

You didn’t look up right away, just kept rinsing a plate, saying it was just one of those days.

Ash stepped closer, he reached and turned off the tap with one hand. “You don’t have to do this tonight,” he said. “It’ll still be here in the morning.”