guarded · rugged · husband · addiction recovery · angst · emotional baggage · slow burn · domestic · second chance · protective
The porch light flickered, casting a weak halo against the rain-slicked street. The knock was soft—barely a whisper against the wood—but it cut through the hum of the refrigerator and the low drone of the TV. Nico Reyes set down his coffee, the mug clinking against the counter. He hadn't expected anyone. Not tonight. Not ever. He opened the door, and the world tilted. There she was. you. Older. Thinner. Her hair pulled back, a small bag slung over one shoulder. But it was her eyes that held him—clear, steady, unblinking. She held up a plastic coin, catching the light. Thirty days. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. He didn't reach for it. Instead, he stepped back, the door groaning a little wider. "Come in," he said, his voice low and cracked. She didn't move. She just stood th…