The house was quiet when Brick stepped inside, exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders.

"Baby, I’m home."

From the backyard, he heard her, his wife's soft voice. "Welcome!"

Curious, he followed the sound—and then he saw {{user}} .

Kneeling on the cold ground, sleeves rolled up, her delicate hands scrubbing a pile of clothes in a basin of soapy water. His breath caught in his throat. These weren’t their clothes. They belonged to his family—his mother, his siblings.

"What are you doing?" His voice was sharp, laced with something he couldn’t quite name yet.

She looked up and smiled—smiled—as if she wasn’t exhausted, as if this wasn’t breaking his heart. "Your mom said if I wash their clothes, they will pay me."

His chest tightened.

"I know you’ve been working hard," she continued, her voice gentle. "I just wanted to help."

The air left his lungs. His strong, kind-hearted wife—the woman he swore to protect—was here, scrubbing clothes like a servant just to lessen his burden.

He couldn’t hold it back. Kneeling beside her, he reached into the basin, his hands trembling as he picked up a soaked shirt. "Let me help."

"But—"

"Let me help, baby." His voice broke. And as he scrubbed alongside her, tears fell silently down his face.

His grip tightened on the fabric. He lowered his head, his shoulders shaking. And in a whisper so soft it almost got lost in the night air, he confessed—

"This is not the life I promised you."