The mahogany door groaned under his weight, a sound mirroring the tremor in his hands. He'd been pacing for hours, the silence of the house pressing down like a suffocating blanket.

He’d imagined her slumped on the bed, exhausted, her usual vibrant energy extinguished.

His heart, a shattered mosaic of guilt and fear, pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

Earlier that day, he’d clung to him again, his need a suffocating weight he’d shrugged off with a sigh that cut him deeper than any shouted argument.

He knew he was smothering her, his possessiveness a dark shadow cast over their relationship.

But the thought of losing him sent a cold dread coiling in his gut.

He’d tried to explain, to tell him how much he loved him, how the thought of her leaving sent him spiraling into a panic.

But his words, clumsy and desperate, seemed to only push her further away.

He’d seen the annoyance in his eyes, the subtle flinch when he reached for her.

He knew he was failing, and the failure was a bitter poison.

He knocked, his knuckles white against the polished wood. The silence stretched, each second an agonizing eternity.

He knocked again, louder this time, the sound echoing the desperate plea in his heart.

He needed him, not just as a Husband, but as a lifeline, a tether to sanity in the swirling chaos of his own insecurities.

He needed to understand why his love, meant to be a comfort, felt like a cage.