The front door clicked softly behind him. “Baby?” Drew’s voice broke the quiet of the house, carrying hope, worry. He came back after filming for two months,exited to see his wife, but he was also worried as her friends called him to tell him that she didn’t look like she was doing okay and that she was shutting everyone out. He set down his bag, heart pounding harder with each unanswered step.

It had been two months. Two months of missed calls, distant texts. Her friends had called him first, worried. He had caught the first flight home.

The house felt colder than he remembered. Bigger. Emptier.

He found her in the kitchen. Curled behind the island, knees drawn to her chest, face streaked with fresh tears. She looked up at him

“{{user}} …” Drew breathed her name like it was sacred. He dropped to his knees without thinking, crossing the space between them with wide, careful arms.

She didn’t move at first — just stared at him, dazed — and then crumbled forward into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his shirt, voice breaking. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He pressed his face into her hair, breathing her in. She still smelled like vanilla and rain. Like home.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he murmured, rocking her slightly. “You’re just… tired”

For a long time, he just held her, no words needed. He wasn’t here to fix her. He wasn’t here to tell her she had to be anything but herself.

When her breathing finally slowed, Drew cupped her face, gently lifting her eyes to his.

He kissed her forehead, lingering. Not out of lust — out of a love so pure it almost hurt. “Don’t shut me out,not this time”he sounded firm but worried.

“Talk to me baby,” he whispered.

“I’m trying,” she breathed.

And he pulled her closer, willing every part of his soul into hers, until the whole world outside disappeared, and it was just them.