Catherine walked up to the front door, her hands buried deep in her coat pockets. She pulled out her keys and sighed, “Ugh, why do I always carry so much junk?” she muttered, shifting the heavy photo frame in her other hand. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon.

She struggled a bit as she unlocked the door.

Click. Clack. The lock turned, and she pushed the door open.

“Finally home,” she breathed, stepping inside. “This house always feels… safe.”

She slipped off her shoes and placed the keys on the small table near the entrance. Then, she leaned the wrapped frame against the wall. Her outfit was sleek—a black silk gown that hugged her body perfectly, topped with a leather coat. Her hair was short and black, gently brushed, and she wore gold earrings. She looked effortlessly elegant.

She picked up the frame again and walked toward the living room “Okay, let’s see it!”

She set the frame on a chair and began unwrapping it quickly, tearing the paper like a child on Christmas morning.

“Oh my God, it’s finally here!” she gasped.

As the paper fell away, she revealed a large family photo. Catherine was wearing a long white dress with soft pink flowers, holding a matching bouquet. Next to her stood her husband, Damian, and their little boy, Jack—both in black suits with white shirts and bow ties. Jack’s grin was wide.

Catherine held the frame with both hands, smiling so hard it almost hurt.

“Look at us,” she said, laughing softly. “So perfect. Evil eyes off, okay?”

She walked to the centre of the living room wall and held up the frame,

“This is the perfect spot.”

She stepped back to check.

“Hmm… It’s crooked.” She walked forward and adjusted it slightly. “There. Much better.”

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, “Just like my family.”

She gave the picture one last look and smiled.

“Damian’s going to love this.”

Then she walked off toward her built-in home office, carrying some books and her bag.

Later that evening…

Catherine strolled back into the hallway and glanced at one of her awards on the wall.

“Dr. Catherine. You are admired.”

She chuckled. “Not bad, Catherine. Not bad at all. You’ve come a long way.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder and stepped into her bathroom. The soft scent of lavender filled the air. She looked at herself in the mirror and murmured, “What a day.” She sighed, loosening the belt of her coat.

She slowly took it off and hung it. Then she removed the rings from her slender fingers, placing them carefully in a small box and got freshened up.

She walked into the bedroom. It was cozy and warm. Their wedding portraits decorated the walls, and a few of her favourite books were stacked on the side table—bookmarks still sticking out.

She ran her hand along the wooden shelf until she stopped at one of Damian’s awards. She picked it up gently.

“Best Director – Mr. Damian,” it read.

“You’re amazing, Damian,” she whispered, smiling. She moved her fingers over his name. “I’m so proud of you.”

Still humming, she walked to the kitchen and peeked into the fridge.

“What should I cook tonight?” she said to herself. “Let’s make something he loves.”

She grabbed a few ingredients and started cooking. In the hot pan, the butter sizzled mixing with the rich smells of garlic and rosemary. From the oven, the scent of golden, crispy potatoes floated through the air. She hummed softly to herself as she worked. The dinner table was set, two wine glasses sparkled under the light. One for her, one for Damian.

Just as she turned the steak, her phone buzzed onto the counter. She wiped her hands quickly on her apron and picked it up.

“Sorry, honey. Still at work. Don’t wait. Eat without me, please.”

Her smile faded. She stared at the message for a long moment, then slowly sighed. She’d been looking forward to this quiet evening. Just the two of them. No phones, no work. Just dinner.

Footsteps padded into the kitchen. Jack, their ten-year-old son, entered slowly, sniffing the air like a curious puppy. He stopped short when he saw her face.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

Catherine blinked, then quickly smiled and set the phone down.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Dad’s working late again.”

Jack climbed onto the stool by the kitchen island and rested his elbows on the counter, watching her cook.

“So… does that mean I can have his steak?”

Catherine let out a small laugh and shook her head.

“Nice try. But I’ll keep it warm for him.”

Jack groaned and dropped his chin into his hands dramatically.

“He’s always late. You cooked all this, and he won’t even be here to eat it.”

She flipped the steak one last time and turned the heat down, sighing softly.

“I know, buddy. But his work is tough. Sometimes things just don’t go as planned.”

Jack frowned and swung his legs under the stool “Yeah, but you work hard too. And you’re always here.”

Her heart tugged at his words. She walked over and ruffled his hair playfully “You’re too clever, you know that? Okay, here’s the deal — we’ll save Dad’s plate, and you and I will have dinner together. Sound good?”

Jack’s eyes lit up.

“Can I have extra potatoes?”

Catherine smiled.

“Deal. Now go wash up, dinner’s almost ready.”

Jack hopped off the stool and ran off, leaving Catherine alone again in the kitchen. Her smile slowly faded. She looked down at the steak. Gently, she plated two portions, keeping Damian’s warm in the oven.

She looked toward the lounge, where a framed photo of the three of them hung on the wall. Smiling softly, she called out, “It’s getting late, Jack. Bedtime now.”

“Okay, Mom,” came his voice from the hallway. “Good night!”

“Good night, sweetheart,” she replied warmly, then turned off the lounge light.

In her bedroom, she paused at the balcony and pulled the curtain aside. Sliding open the glass door, she stepped out for a moment. A cold wind hit her, and she looked up at the heavy, dark clouds rolling in.

“The wind’s picking up…” she whispered. “Looks like a storm’s coming.”

She closed the door and locked it. Shivering slightly, she placed her phone on the side table and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“You need some sleep, Catherine,” she said quietly to herself.

She opened the cupboard and pulled out her favourite nightgown—a soft lavender one with tiny white flowers. After changing, she folded her clothes neatly and slipped under the cozy blanket.

Reaching over, she grabbed a book from the nightstand.

“Just one chapter,” she chuckled to herself. “Then sleep.”

But as she read, her eyes grew heavy. The book slowly slipped from her hands and rested gently on her chest.

Later that night, a sleek black BMW pulled up quietly in front of the house. Rain was falling steadily. The car door opened, and Damian stepped out, holding a black leather bag. Raindrops clung to his jacket as he hurried up the steps and unlocked the door, slipping inside without a sound.

He left his shoes at the entrance and stepped into the bedroom and paused in the doorway.

Catherine was asleep, resting peacefully against the pillows, the book still on her chest.

He smiled to himself and whispered, “Why do you always wait for me?”

He gently lifted the book from her chest and placed it on the nightstand. Catherine stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open.

“You’re home…” she murmured sleepily. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he whispered.

“I waited,” she said, reaching for his hand.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You shouldn’t wait up so late.”

She gave a sleepy smile.

Damian quickly changed into his nightclothes and slid into bed beside her. The moment he lay down, Catherine turned toward him and nestled against his chest, her hand drawing soft circles on his shirt.

“You’re cold,” she whispered.

“I’ll warm up soon,” he replied.

She reached up and kissed him, slow and tender. He responded, deepening the kiss as his hand moved to cradle her face, his fingers tangling in her hair. She gasped softly when his hand slipped beneath the hem of her gown, tracing the curve of her back.

The gown slipped away, and their bodies pressed closer. His lips travelled across her skin, slow and hungry.

“Damian…” she whispered.

He looked into her eyes, his own dark with emotion. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she breathed. “All of you. Don’t hold back.”

He didn’t.

As the rain tapped the windows, the storm moved into them—deep, intense. She trembled beneath him. He held her like he’d never let her go.

When it was over, they lay wrapped in each other, tangled in the sheets. He kissed her temple.

“You still make me feel like the only woman in the world,” she whispered against his chest.

“That’s because you are,” he murmured.

They drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

Morning came, the curtains fluttered gently, and a ray of light flashed across Catherine’s face. She blinked and reached across the bed, brushing her hand against Damian’s arm.

“Wake up,” she whispered.

Damian groaned under the covers, barely squinting at the sunlight.

“Too early…” he mumbled.

Catherine giggled and pulled the blanket down a little, poking his side.

“Come on. Don’t go back to sleep. It’s already morning.”

He groaned again but rolled toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

“Five more minutes,” he said, voice muffled against her shoulder.

“Don’t forget, you have to drive Jack to school,” she teased, nudging him.

“Ugh, fine,” he muttered.

She stood up and walked over to the console table, picking up his coat. As she lifted it, something small fell out and rolled onto the floor.

“Huh?” she said, crouching to pick it up. It was pink lip balm. She opened it and sniffed.

“Cherry?” she murmured, half-laughing. “Hmm, why do you have it?”

She shook her head and placed it on the table.

“I’m going to shower,” she called over her shoulder.

On the bed, Damian opened one eye and stared at the cherry lip balm. He cursed under his breath.