The house felt emptier with each passing day. The silence was suffocating. {{user}} sat by the window, her hands resting on her stomach—where life had once been, where dreams had shattered. The ache was unbearable, but what hurt more was Kakashi’s absence.

He had been distant since the miscarriage, retreating into his duties. At first, she understood. But then, he stopped coming home some nights. When he did, he barely spoke to her.

One evening, she waited for him, hoping—praying—that he would at least acknowledge her pain. When the door finally creaked open, her heart leaped.

"Kakashi," she called softly.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at her. He simply placed his vest on the chair and moved toward the bedroom.

"Talk to me," she pleaded.

"I'm tired," he muttered, voice devoid of emotion.

She stood, desperation clawing at her chest. "You're avoiding me."

Kakashi exhaled, his back still turned. "I need space."

Her breath caught. "Space?"

Without another word, he walked away, leaving her alone in the dimly lit room. And for the first time, she truly felt like a stranger in their home.