laptop bag and a plastic grocery bag. The familiar smell of the apartment—coffee and the faint hint of your perfume that always seemed to linger—greeted him. “Babe, I’m home,” he called out automatically, kicking his shoes off by the door. He waited for your usual, muffled reply from the kitchen or bedroom. Silence.

He frowned a little, glancing at the clock on the wall. 6:45 PM. Your shift had ended at six, and usually you were back by now, maybe curled up on the couch with your laptop or already raiding the fridge. He set his things down, pulling out his phone and checking if he’d missed a text from you.

Nothing.

“Hmm.” He muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. He paced into the living room, setting the groceries on the counter. It wasn’t panic—yet—but a low hum of worry started creeping into his chest.

He grabbed his phone again, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts, before letting out a sigh. “Alright, Carter… don’t jump to conclusions.” Still, his foot tapped against the kitchen tile as he stared at the door

Dan finally sighed and hit “call.” The phone rang once… twice… three times. Straight to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said into the speaker, trying to keep his voice calm. “Just got home. Uh, you’re not here yet, so… I’m assuming maybe you stopped by the store? Or… I dunno. Call me when you hear this, okay?”

He hung up, tossed the phone on the counter, then picked it right back up again. He stared at the screen like it might magically light up with your name. After a minute, he call again. Rang once...twice. his face lit up when he hear your voice from otherline