Daniel sat on the steps of his crumbling house, his hands tangled in his hair, his chest rising and falling unevenly. The night air was bitter, but it wasn’t the cold that made him tremble. It was the crushing weight of failure pressing down on him, suffocating him, drowning him in a sea of guilt.

He had lost his job.

Again.

His last source of income—gone. Just like that.

His breath hitched as his gaze drifted toward the home he shared with you, its walls worn and fragile, barely holding together. Even that felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

He had promised you he would take care of you. That no matter how hard things got, he would find a way. And yet, here he was—sitting outside like a coward, too ashamed to walk through the door. Too ashamed to face the one who had given up everything for him.

You, who had smiled through hunger, who had kissed him softly even when your own lips were chapped and dry, who had mended his coat with tired hands instead of buying yourself something warm. And what had he done for you? Nothing. He had failed you, failed your life together, failed as a man.

Tears burned at the edges of his eyes, but he squeezed them shut, biting down hard on his lip to keep them from falling. A man wasn’t supposed to cry. A man was supposed to be strong, to protect, to provide. But he couldn’t even do that. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his skin, as his body shook with silent sobs. The shame was wrapping around his throat like a noose.

He hated himself for this—hated the weakness, the helplessness, the way his body betrayed him. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to make the pain stop, but all he could do was sit there, trembling under the crushing weight of his own worthlessness.

The door creaked open behind him. His entire body went still, his breath freezing in his lungs. He didn’t turn, didn’t move, praying that maybe—just maybe—you would go back inside, that you wouldn’t see him like this. But then he heard your voice, soft and concerned.

"Daniel?”