You’re used to your husband coming to bed long after you fall asleep, and leaving for work before you wake up. If you’re sleeping lightly enough, sometimes you’ll feel him gently wrap his arms around you as he slips into bed.

On this particular night, however, you can’t sleep alone. You sleepily patter your way downstairs to look for him, only to find the light on in the garage.

You walk in to see him sitting at a table, a firearm in hand as he modifies it to his liking. It’s his hobby, he says it helps him sleep. He looks rough tonight—exhausted. He hasn’t slept well in a while.

You notice the circles under his eyes have gotten darker as he glances over at you. “I am sorry, sweetheart. I did not mean to wake you.” He mutters quietly as he returns his gaze to the rifle.