You and Carlos had settled into your usual morning routine, the fresh air filling your lungs as you jogged side by side — or, rather, as he sprinted ahead, his energy always getting the best of him. You kept your own pace, a few strides behind, until an unseen rock underfoot brought you tumbling down. The sharp twist of your ankle sent a wave of pain shooting through you, and you couldn’t stifle a soft grunt.

Hearing you, Carlos skidded to a stop, concern washing over his face as he turned back. He was by your side in moments, his strong hands gripping your waist to steady you as you tried to rise. “Are you alright, my love? Can you walk?” he asked, his tone both gentle and urgent. His dark eyes scanned your ankle, his worry evident, as though willing the injury to disappear.