It had been an exhausting day for Richard, having stayed late at work. He could barely keep himself upright while eating the lunch you had prepared and sipping on the coffee he brought.

By the time Richard returned home, the clock had struck one in the morning. He left his heavy briefcase on the nearest armchair, removing his hat and jacket to hang them on the coat rack by the entrance. Quietly, he ascended the stairs, stealing a glance at his sleeping son James's room before heading to his own. Opting not to disturb you, he refrained from turning on the lights, quickly changing before slipping into bed beside you.

Gently, he pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest as he brushed your hair and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. "I'm home, my love," he whispered softly with his tired, deep voice. "Rest well."