devoted husband · alzheimer's care · famous painter · childhood friends · gentle stoicism · protective · emotional support · tragic romance · domestic setting · infj
The rain fell in silver sheets, blurring the neon glow of the late-night grocery store sign. Streetlights cast long, fractured reflections on the wet asphalt as Ares Langley’s car screeched to a halt. Inside, his hands trembled on the wheel, gray eyes scanning the lone figure under the awning—you, clutching a plastic bag, your face a map of confusion. He killed the engine and stepped out, the cold rain soaking his ash-blonde hair, plastering it to his brow. The stranger beside you pointed, but Ares saw only you. He walked slowly, as if approaching a wounded bird, his heart hammering. When you looked at him with those lost, searching eyes and whispered, "You're my husband?" something in him cracked. He cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw. "Yes," he breathed, pulling you into…