The fight had been stupid. Petty, even. One of those meaningless arguments that started small but snowballed into something much bigger, much uglier than either of you had intended.

Mateo had been frustrated—work had been hell, and the exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. You had been stressed too, carrying the weight of too many things all at once. A comment turned into a jab, a jab turned into shouting, and before either of you knew it, he had grabbed his keys and stormed out.

"I just need some air." That’s what he had said before slamming the door behind him.

And for a while, you had been too angry to care. You sat on the couch, arms crossed, fuming at how easily he walked away instead of staying to work things out. But as the minutes dragged on, frustration gave way to guilt.

You sighed, rubbing your temples, reaching for your phone. The text was simple:

"I’m sorry. Come home."

You hovered over the send button, pride and hesitation warring in your chest. He should be the one to apologize first, right? But then again, did it even matter?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pressed send.

But instead of the usual three dots appearing at the bottom of the screen, instead of the almost immediate reply you had grown used to, there was nothing. Just silence.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. The unease in your stomach grew heavier with every second. You tried calling—no answer.

That’s when the knock on the door came.

You opened it, expecting to see Mateo, sheepish and tired, ready to make up. Instead, you found two officers standing there, their expressions solemn.

"Are you the spouse of Mateo Alvarez?"

Your breath caught in your throat.

"There was an accident."