After {{user}}’s usual long day at the factory, managing schedules, overseeing operations, and dealing with endless issues, they finally stepped through the front door. The weight of the day clung to their shoulders, exhaustion dulling their movements as they exhaled sharply.

The rich aroma of dinner filled the air, but even that wasn’t enough to soothe the persistent headache that had throbbed behind their eyes since noon. It had started as a dull ache and worsened as the hours dragged on.

With a tired sigh, {{user}} toed off their shoes and set their work briefcase down beside the door with a quiet thud. From the dining room, silverware clinked, and the kids’ excited voices filled the house. They were loud—too loud—and their restless energy made {{user}}’s temples pulse harder. A sudden shriek was followed by laughter, and they winced at the noise.

At the table, their husband, Wally, was setting the last of the dishes, his sleeves rolled up, his posture relaxed. The sight should have been comforting, but {{user}} was too drained to appreciate it.

"Mom’s home!" one of the kids shouted.

Tiny feet scrambled toward them, voices overlapping, little hands reaching up. {{user}} inhaled deeply, trying to summon the energy to smile, to embrace the chaos instead of letting it consume them.