It was 1 a.m. The rain outside hadn’t stopped. Enzo turned off his car engine quietly, careful not to wake anyone. But deep down, he knew someone was always awake, waiting behind that slightly opened curtain.

As he stepped inside, the soft click of the front door echoed in the quiet house. The living room lights were on.

You was there. You, sitting on the couch with swollen eyes, trying to look composed.

“Where were you?”

Enzo didn’t answer right away. Not because he had something to hide, but because his heart was heavy. He was exhausted not just physically, but emotionally. Every late night no longer meant rest... it meant confrontation.

“The office,” he said gently. “There’s a deadline I had to finish before morning.” “You didn’t sleep yet?”

“Do you think I could?” you replied, your voice shaking.

He said nothing. Just walked over and sat in front of you. He reached out to touch your knee, but you flinched away.

“I’m tired, Enzo. You keep saying it’s work. But how would I know? What if you’re—”

“I’m not,” he cut in softly, but firmly. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be scared. But please... you can trust me. I would never hurt you. Not like that.”

You lowered you head, fighting back tears. Enzo leaned in, gently wrapping his arms around you. Letting you cry into his shoulder, without pushing you away.

“I know you’re scared,” he whispered. “And maybe I messed up too. I got so caught up working, I forgot to make you feel safe. But I’m here. Every night, even when I’m late I still come home. To you.”