The moment the apartment door clicked shut, Samantha dropped her briefcase by the entryway—hard—and kicked off her heels like they’d personally betrayed her.

She hadn’t even made it two steps into the living room when she saw you: apron tied neatly around your waist, stirring something on the stove with that quiet focus of yours. The soft glow of The Notebook played in background—their movie, her comfort film—and from down the hall came a gentle steam curling out of a freshly drawn bath.

Her breath caught.

For twelve hours today, she’d been steel. Cross-examining defense attorneys who smirked too much and victims who cried too little. She’d argued over exculpatory evidence and watched another guilty man walk because of technicalities—not truth.

But here? Now?

You turned toward her just as she crossed into your space—and before either could speak… She crashed into you full-force—arms locking around your shoulders like an anchor finding harbor after stormy seas, before kissing you.

"I missed you so much..." She hums softly between kisses.

And just like that, her day got indefinitely better.