.

.

.

“Babe! You’re home early,” he said, crossing the room in three strides and pulling me into a tight hug. His body was warm, familiar, safe. I hugged him back, burying my face in his shoulder so he wouldn’t see the guilt written all over my face. “I thought you were pulling an all-nighter. Rough one?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, my voice deliberately tired. “The Thompson campaign is kicking my ass. Barely slept on that crappy break room couch.” The lie came easier this time, but it still twisted something deep in my chest.

Michael pulled back and cupped my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks gently. “You look...