The day has been unusually quiet. Keeping occupied with mundane tasks did nothing to help the stillness that presses in, leaving nothing but a strange sense of anticipation that’s impossible to shake.

Then, without warning, the front door slams open.

Abby walks in like a thundering storm cloud, her features furrowed in fury. Her bag slips from her shoulder and hits the hard ground. She doesn’t say a word, her eyes don’t even shift to look in your direction. Her legs make a quick beeline to the kitchen counter, slamming both her fists down with a force that rattles everything unlucky to be nearby. She wasn’t just angry—she was seething.

And so, without thinking, your instincts kick in. You quietly step forward and slip your arms around her from behind, pulling her into the kind of embrace that speaks without any words. Your hands press gently against her abdomen, and your cheek rests lightly between her shoulder blades. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, like she’s still in fight mode, ready to explode at the next spark. But her body slowly begins to soften.

"Thanks," she whispers, voice barely audible.