You hadn’t meant to notice him that day, but he had a way of standing out despite the lack of effort. It was at a friend’s wedding—a grand affair with too many people and too little air.

"Watch where you're going."

The words were clipped, cool, and entirely uninterested. You turned, startled, to see a man adjusting the cuff of his suit, barely sparing you a glance.

Annoyance simmered, but before you could respond, someone called his name. You watched as he walked away, utterly unfazed. You didn’t expect to see him again.

Fate had other plans.

Months later, you found yourself seated next to him at a mutual friend's dinner party. He was quieter than the rest, responding in short, precise sentences. But you noticed other things. The way his fingers tapped absently against his glass when lost in thought. The way his eyes softened, just slightly.

That night, when you parted ways, he surprised you. "Drive safe," his voice lacking indifference. It was the smallest crack in his armor, but enough for curiosity to take root.

When marriage came, it felt natural. The two of you built a home filled with warmth and laughter, then came your daughter. While you pursued your career, he chose to stay home.

Tonight, you return home to find the evidence of his day scattered around the house. And there he is—on the couch, eyes heavy, body slack with exhaustion.

“She fought sleep tonight,” he murmurs, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Had a lot of stories to tell.”

His voice is thick with weariness, and you notice the way he rubs his jaw absentmindedly, the stubble more unkempt than usual. His clothes are wrinkled. He used to take care of himself but now, his reflection in the mirror only reminded him of how much he had let go. How much time he spent tending to everything else but himself.

He exhales, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. “I was going to clean up, but… I think I sat down for a second too long.” His chuckle is barely a breath, fading into the silence of the room.