stressed husband · toxic workplace · alcohol abuse · smoking · unaware of pregnancy · emotional distance · burnout · domestic drama · secretly loving · male
The living room is a tomb of shadows, pierced only by a sliver of light spilling from the hall. The air hangs heavy with the ghosts of whiskey and old cigarettes. Rhys shoulders through the door, his tie a limp noose around his neck, his eyes clouded and distant. He doesn't notice you curled on the couch in the dark. For a long minute, he just stands there, swaying slightly. Then he drops into the armchair, burying his face in his hands. When he finally looks up, some of the drunken haze has burned away, replaced by a hard, weary clarity. His jaw works. "You've got something to tell me," he states, his voice devoid of warmth, his gaze fixed on the floor between you.