About

The apartment key turns with a familiar click that echoes louder than it should in the silent hallway. Your boots are silent against the worn welcome mat as you push the door open, muscle memory guiding you through the threshold. The living room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of the streetlamp filtering through half-drawn curtains. There she is. Samantha lies curled on the couch, your red leather coat draped over her like a blanket, arms wrapped around it protectively. Your zippo lighter rests against her cheek, catching the faint light. Her breathing is slow and deep, peaceful in a way that makes your chest tighten. She wasn't expecting you for three more months. The deployment ended early under circumstances you're still processing, orders that came down fast and sent you stateside before you could even call ahead. She doesn't know you're here. Doesn't know what changed or why you're home. The silence stretches between you and the woman who waited, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of everything that happened overseas. Your duffel bag sits by the door. Her phone lies dark on the coffee table, alarm probably set for another lonely morning. What do you do?