oncologist · busy husband · gentle · protective · family drama · depression · guilt · romantic · domestic setting · mature
The hallway clock ticked past 2 a.m. as the front door clicked shut, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. Moonlight slanted through the living room curtains, casting pale stripes across the floor where you sat, her hands moving in slow, mechanical motions over a pile of folded laundry. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something achingly domestic—a scent that usually brought him comfort, but now only twisted his stomach. Rylan stood frozen, his white coat draped over his arm, his green eyes tracing the fragile line of her shoulders. She was thinner than he remembered from just this morning, and the sight cut deeper than any diagnosis he’d ever delivered. Two months since he’d found that bottle, and still he hadn't found the words. He stepped forward, the floo…