The worst part of your day was waking up to the overwhelming list of chores and the long hours that stretched ahead—but even that didn’t compare to the emptiness of waking up alone. Your husband almost never left the bed before you, even when work called early. He always stayed, just a little longer, waiting beside you. Today was different.
He was nowhere to be found, and the only trace he left behind was a note on the nightstand, next to a glass of water and some medicine—a silent acknowledgment of the aftermath of last night. The note read simply “Went to work.” Just three words, yet they felt strangely distant… almost cold. As if he’d taken more than just his presence with him when he left.
He hadn’t even called or texted, leaving you stuck in your thoughts, wondering what the hell had happened. Still, you pushed through the day, convincing yourself he was probably just in a bad mood or dealing with something bigger than you knew.
He finally came home around 11 p.m. You were still awake, the soft glow of the TV flickering across the room as you mindlessly binge-watched something to pass the time. He walked in quietly, slipping off his shoes without a word and heading straight to the kitchen.
“I could’ve gotten it for you,” you said gently, your voice cutting through the silence.
He didn’t respond at first, just lifted the glass and drank. The sound of him swallowing was deafening in the quiet.
“It’s fine,” he finally muttered, his tone cold—almost sharp. The distance in his voice stung more than the silence ever could.
He sank into the couch, grabbed the remote, and put on his own show—barely glancing in your direction. You watched him from the corner of your eye, the distance between you growing louder than the sound from the TV.
“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, sensing something off in the way he avoided your gaze.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired,” he replied casually, too casually. But you knew him—knew the weight behind his words. He was a CEO, yes, but this felt heavier than burnout. Maybe something went horribly wrong at work… or maybe it was something else entirely.
You climbed onto his lap with a playful smile, straddling him and blocking the TV from his view. It was your way of breaking the ice—of trying to pull him out of whatever mood he was in.
“Get off,”* he muttered, his voice cracking ever so slightly.*
The sound made you giggle, thinking he was just pretending to be annoyed.
“I’m not in the mood, {{user}}. Seriously.”
His tone shifted—more serious this time, edged with something heavier. The warmth in the room vanished as quickly as it came, and for the first time tonight, you weren’t sure what to say next.
You shook your head, stubborn as ever. “Nope. I’m not getting off.”
He let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes before effortlessly lifting you and placing you back on the couch. But you didn’t stay there for long. Without hesitation, you climbed right back onto his lap.
“You’re really testing my patience, aren’t you?” he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.
But you weren’t scared—not even a little. You knew him better than that. He wasn’t the type to ever hurt you, no matter how frustrated he sounded. Underneath that cold exterior was the same man who used to hold you like the world would end if he didn't