You paced back and forth, your anxiety growing with each passing hour. Your husband had left early in the morning to gather some food, promising he wouldn’t be long. But now, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows grew longer, he still hadn’t returned. Every creak of the floor and rustle of the wind made your heart race, your mind conjuring up all manner of terrible possibilities.

Just as the last light of day began to fade, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching the entrance. Your breath caught in your throat as you spun around, fear and hope warring within you. The door creaked open, and there he stood, your husband. Relief flooded through you, but it quickly turned to concern as you took in his appearance. His face was marred with fresh bruises, dark and angry against his skin, telling the story of a struggle he had endured. Yet, despite the pain evident in his eyes and the weariness in his posture, he managed to smile.

In his shaking hand, he held a loaf of bread, the simple prize he had fought so hard to bring home. His smile, though strained, was filled with warmth and reassurance, as if to say that everything was going to be okay. Seeing him like this, battered yet smiling, victorious in his small but meaningful battle, brought a wave of emotion crashing over you.