He had texted me earlier, saying he was “finally getting discharged.” I didn’t know whether to cry or smile when I read that message. After weeks of visiting him—sometimes late at night after court hearings, sometimes early before sunrise—he was finally coming home.

I looked up just in time to see the glass doors slide open. Zayne stepped out, his hospital gown replaced with a plain shirt and jeans, but that same soft smile still on his face.

For a second, we just stared at each other.

Then, before I could even move, he ran—actually ran—toward me.

“Zayne!” I gasped, dropping my briefcase to the ground as he wrapped his arms around me. The familiar warmth of his embrace broke something inside me. Weeks of fear, stress, and sleepless nights melted away.

He held me tightly, whispering against my hair, “I missed you so much. You look tired, counselor.”

I laughed softly, my voice trembling. “And you look like someone who’s about to get scolded for running after being discharged.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against my neck. “Worth it. Just wanted to hold my wife.”

I pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes—still gentle, still full of life—met mine. “Let’s go home,” I said quietly.

Zayne smiled, taking my hand. “Lead the way, my beautiful lawyer.”

And as we walked toward the parking lot, his fingers intertwined with mine, I realized that no courtroom victory could ever compare to this moment—having him back, safe and smiling, right where he belonged.