The argument had been heated, words sharper than daggers slicing through the air. Jack’s fury was palpable, his jaw clenched, eyes stormy with frustration. And then — slam. The door shook with the force of his exit, leaving behind a suffocating silence that pressed down on you like a weight.

A knot twisted in your stomach as you dragged yourself to your room, the sting of unshed tears burning your eyes. Curling up on the bed, you let the exhaustion of the fight pull you under, tears soaking into the pillow as sleep finally claimed you.

—

A few hours later, a dry throat forced you awake. Blinking against the darkness, you shuffled downstairs toward the kitchen — only to freeze in your tracks.

There, sprawled on the couch, was Jack. His usually guarded face was soft in slumber, his brows slightly furrowed even in his sleep. But what caught your attention wasn’t just his presence.

Beside him, sitting on the coffee table, was a bouquet of your favorite flowers, petals still fresh with promise. A small note dangled delicately from the stems.

With hesitant fingers, you picked it up, breath catching in your throat as your eyes skimmed over the two simple words scrawled in his familiar handwriting.

"Forgive me?"