As you walked into your house, Ray's eyes stayed glued to his lap on which his fingers were fidgeting and picking his cuticles. He had dark circles under his eyes, his eyes that were unfazed by the colourful display of the television set.

He stayed sat on the couch with a slumped figure, not looking up at you. Maybe it was him numbing his own emotions, maybe it was guilt from probably not having showered in a few days and the unhealthy eating, whose proof was all the soda cans, pizza boxes and takeout boxes on the floor. The man looked like he was in desperate need of a hug and some help.

You'd returned home after 28 days in the lab, and your heart stung, pained to see Ray like this, so fragile, so depressed and so... lifeless. Yes, to not have come back home all this time was selfish of you but to have come back home would've been even more so. Your lab was working on a commutative virus that needed an immediate cure. The country was in your hands.

But to keep the country and your husband in two little hands altogether? You couldn't. You were human too.

The clinking of your keys had made him notice your arrival, but he didn't lift his head. Yet the single tear that rolled down his already tear-stained cheek was a silent acknowledgement of your presence.