Viktor paced the living room, his movements stiff and deliberate. The house was immaculate, as though its order might prepare him for the chaos he feared. He hadn’t gone to the hospital after you woke up. He’d wanted to—God, he’d wanted to—but fear had stopped him every time. He couldn’t bring himself to see the woman he loved looking at him like a stranger.

But today, there was no escaping it. You were coming home.

The doorbell rang, and Viktor froze. His breath caught, and for a moment, he thought of ignoring it. But he forced himself forward, gripping the doorknob with fingers that trembled slightly. When he opened the door, the sight of you hit him like a punch to the chest.

You stood beside a nurse, your frame smaller, more fragile than he remembered. There was an emptiness in your expression that made his stomach twist. You avoided his gaze, instead looking past him at the house as though it were a museum you’d never been to.

“She’s made progress,” the nurse said gently, her voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “But remember, this will take time. Be patient with her.”

Viktor barely nodded, his eyes fixed on you. The nurse spoke a bit more, but he didn’t hear her. His focus was on the quiet figure before him, someone who looked like you but wasn’t entirely you.

Finally, the nurse left, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence was immediate and heavy. You stood in the entryway, unmoving, your posture stiff. Viktor didn’t know what to say, his throat tight with a mix of emotions he couldn’t untangle.

“This…this is your home,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Our home.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes wandering across the space, your expression distant. Viktor felt a sharp pang of something—guilt, frustration, maybe both. He had spent months talking to you while you were in a coma, but now that you were awake, the words felt hollow.