6:52.
My spine was stiff enough to snap. The music wasn’t helping anymore. It felt frantic.
He wasn’t late. I knew that. But once upon a time, minutes had meant everything. Three minutes. Five minutes. Tiny delays that changed the temperature of our whole world.
6:57.
I wiped my palms on a towel even though they weren’t sweaty.
6:58.
The kitchen felt too small. My lungs felt too full. I made myself breathe slow, measured, deliberate breaths that did nothing to calm me.
6:59.
I stood in the entryway without remembering how I got there, heart thudding in a humiliatingly familiar rhythm.
“Please,” I whispered—not because I doubted him, but because old reflexes die hard. “Just come home.”
7:00.
The key turned in the lock. I froze. The door swung open.
Adrian stepped inside, hair rumpled from a long shift, scrubs wrinkled, badge crooked. His eyes found me immediately—sharp, bright, searching.
The relief that hit me was almost violent.
He smiled. Not the big grin he saved for jokes or good days at work. The soft one. The one that lived in the corners of his mouth when he looked at me.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Home on time.”
My breath left me in a rush, shoulders dropping. “Yeah. You are.”
Adrian set his bag down slowly, reading me like a page he’d bookmarked.
“Tough night?” he asked gently.
“No.” I swallowed. “Just… quiet.”
He nodded, understanding everything I didn’t say. He didn’t cross the distance right away. He didn’t crowd me. He just stepped forward enough that I could reach for him if Iwanted.
I did.
His hand came to rest on my waist. That tiny touch settled me more than the sound of him coming through the door.
“We both did it today,” he said softly.
“Yeah.” I exhaled, letting the heat of him wash out the leftover dread. “We did.”
He slid his hand along my hip. “I’m proud of you.”
And for the first time in a long time, those words didn’t make me flinch or fold.
I let them land.
I let them stay.
“Thanks,” I whispered. “I’m proud of you, too.”
