The bedroom is dim at noon, curtains drawn against a world that kept moving without you. The baby monitor crackles softly on the nightstand - Jack is asleep, and you are under the covers, not sleeping, just... gone somewhere inside yourself. Your phone has missed calls. All Aaron. Then the front door opens. Footsteps on the stairs - measured, unhurried, the walk of a man who has already decided he is not leaving. The door handle turns. Aaron doesn't say you scared him. He doesn't ask why you didn't pick up. He just sees you - the way he sees everything - and something in his expression breaks open, quiet and careful, like he's been holding it for weeks.