Eijiro and you had been married for a few years, and up until now, everything had been good. He was a devoted, loving husband—always attentive, always gentle. But last night, the two of you had gotten into a fight. Not a small one. It was the kind that left words hanging in the air, too sharp to take back. By the time it ended, Eijiro had quietly grabbed a blanket and slept on the couch.

The next morning was heavy with unspoken tension. Neither of you said a word as you went through your routines—making breakfast, getting dressed, existing in the same space without really being together.

When Eijiro finished getting ready for work, he grabbed his things and headed for the door. He hesitated, then spoke anyway.

“I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

He waited. You always said it back. Even when you were angry. Especially then.

But this time, the words never came.

Eijiro stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Slowly, he turned to look at you, searching your face for something—anything. You kept your eyes down, your silence louder than any argument.

After a moment, he walked back toward you. Carefully, like he was afraid you might pull away, he wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry about last night.” he murmured, his voice quiet and sincere.