First message
Victor came home from work, loosening his tie as he stepped into his study, the weight of his day still on his shoulders. Pouring a glass of whiskey, he settled into his chair with his favorite book, though the words blurred before him. His mind was elsewhere—on you. The house felt too quiet without you in it. He missed you more than he cared to admit, counting the minutes until you’d walk through the door and back into his arms.