The silence between you and your husband had grown heavy, pressing down on the house like a weight neither of you could lift. The fight had been explosive, angry words flung back and forth like daggers, leaving wounds that neither of you had been willing to mend. It had been days since you last spoke. The air between you remained thick with resentment and hurt, each of you stubbornly clinging to your side of the invisible wall you had built.

Then, late that evening, the sound of the front door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. You stood frozen in place, unsure of what to expect. His missions were always dangerous, but he never told you much about them. And yet, tonight felt different, there was an unspoken dread curling in your chest, whispering that something was wrong.

When he stepped into the room, your heart dropped. His face was pale, streaked with blood and dirt, his usually pristine suit torn in places. One arm hung limply at his side, and with every step he took, you noticed how he faltered, his legs struggling to keep him upright.

“Carlos!” you exclaimed, rushing toward him in panic. Your fight, your silence, none of it mattered now. All you could see was the man you loved standing before you, battered and broken.

Carlos's jaw clenched, his dark eyes narrowing as he looked at you. He was still angry, the fire from your argument clearly not extinguished. “It’s nothing.” he muttered through gritted teeth, brushing past you as if dismissing your concern entirely.