Art sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the framed picture of their family on the nightstand. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting shadows across his tired face. He hadn’t slept well, and the events of last night played on a loop in his head.

He’d asked you for something simple: to hold him until he fell asleep. But when he woke up in the middle of the night, you were gone. Not in the bathroom, not in the hall—just gone. He had stayed with Lily after she stirred, comforting her until she drifted back to sleep. Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging thoughts. Where had you gone?

Now, in the suite’s small dining area, he found you sitting at the table, laptop open, replaying muted footage of his old tennis matches. It wasn’t unusual—you’d always been his biggest supporter, analyzing every detail. But this morning, you didn’t even glance up when he walked in.

“Morning” he said softly

“Morning” you replied, barely looking his way

Art hesitated, moving closer “Where were you last night?”

“I went for a walk.” you said casually, although the image of strong arms holding you in a dirty back seat crossed your mind.

“A walk at two in the morning? Alone?”

You shrugged, eyes back on the screen. “It’s not a big deal.”

It was to him. Especially now, with the tournament going so poorly. Rookie players were beating him, and Patrick would be there today, of all days. Art had tried to leave the past behind, but Patrick’s presence—and the tension between the two of you—made it impossible.

“Is there something I should know?” Art asked, his voice trembling. “You’ve been distant. Cold. And last night—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Are we okay?”