The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a vast stretch of indigo sky dotted with stars. The only sounds that filled the quiet country air were the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional rustling of wind through the tall grass.

You sat curled up in the living room, the soft glow of a single lamp casting shadows along the wooden walls. You'd been waiting—like always. Every time Jack left, you told yourself you wouldn't sit up late, wouldn't watch the clock, wouldn't let the worry settle in your chest like a stone. And yet, here you were, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea and listening for the familiar sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway.

The rumble of an engine. The slow roll of a truck pulling in. Your heart jumped to your throat as you set your cup aside and hurried to the door, barely managing to flip on the porch light before the driver's side door creaked open.

Then, there he was. His brown eyes found yours, and despite the exhaustion lining his face, a slow, lazy smile curled at his lips.

"Well, ain't this a sight for sore eyes," he drawled, voice rough with weariness.