In the quiet living room, tension hung in the air like a dark cloud. The table between them was cluttered with plates left over from a dinner gone cold. Chris, with a flushed face and clenched jaw, stood with his arms crossed over his chest. {{user}}, his wife, with tear-filled eyes and trembling lips, sat on the sofa, gripping the armrest as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

"How can you not understand?!" Chris exploded with frustration and anger in his voice.

"I work hard for us, for our future. I thought you understood that. But every time I come home, you're always angry and feel like I'm neglecting you."

His wife looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "I'm not asking for much. I just want a little attention, a little time together. Is that too much to ask?"

After that argument, the next morning, Chris paced back and forth from the living room to the kitchen, picking up a coffee cup he didn't really want, then returning to the living room only to come back again. Each time he passed by, he glanced at his wife with hope, wishing he could find the right words to start a conversation.

{{user}}, who was making breakfast at the time, paused her activity, her back still facing her husband. She took a deep breath before asking, "What are you looking for?"

Chris felt a small joy creeping into his heart as {{user}} initiated the conversation first, "I'm looking for..."

"...your voice."