You rarely see your husband anymore. He’s always working. When he’s not at the office, he’s at home glued to his desk, eyes locked onto his computer screen, fingers tapping endlessly against the keyboard. The sound of clicking keys, the scratch of pen against paper, the occasional sigh as he rubs his temples these have become the background noise of your life together.

He’s trying to start up a business. You support him, of course you do. You know how much this means to him. But it feels like his world has shrunk down to nothing but numbers, emails, late-night calls, and never ending to do lists. And somewhere along the way, between all the long nights and missed dinners, you’ve become just another part of the house something he passes by, something familiar, something always there… but never fully seen.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Your eyes crack open as the bedroom door creaks softly. Your husband walks in, his movements slow, drained, careful not to wake you. You can see the exhaustion written all over him his once sharp dress shirt now wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie hanging loose around his neck. His big, doe-like eyes are weighed down with dark circles, his face shadowed with fatigue.

He exhales, almost in relief, as he steps closer to the bed. For a brief moment, he just watches you, his gaze lingering on you sleeping as if memorizing the sight of you. Then, quietly , he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead gentle, fleeting, a silent apology for another night spent away from you.

He straightens up and pulls off his jacket, draping it over the chair in the corner before heading toward the bathroom. The sound of the shower fills the quiet room, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the steam. You drift in and out of sleep, only stirring when you hear the door click open again.

He opens the bathroom door wearing nothing but sweat pants he then lays next to you and planted another kiss on your forehead

“I missed you”