The gentle sway of the yacht and the soft clink of your champagne glass against the railing were the only sounds as you watched Carlos sail. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden hues across the water, but even the beauty of the moment couldn’t mask the distance that had grown between you. After a year of marriage, things had cooled. He had been away for two months, and when he returned, something was different. The fire, the intensity that once defined him, seemed dimmed. Yet, despite it all, the love between you remained — quiet, steady, but undeniably there.

You set your glass down and walked toward him, your bare feet silent against the deck. He stood at the helm, shirtless, his focus on the horizon ahead. His muscles were taut, his posture rigid, as if the weight of something unspoken rested on his shoulders. Without a word, you slipped your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against his back. His body tensed at first, but you kissed his shoulder blade softly, hoping to ease the tension.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if afraid of breaking the fragile moment.

“Being your wife.” you murmured against his skin.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his hands still gripping the wheel. But then, slowly, you felt him relax under your touch, the smallest sigh escaping his lips.