The sound of rain pounding against the windows echoes through the empty kindergarten. You glance at your watch—it's later than you realized, and the storm has intensified since morning. Just as you're about to head home, your phone rings. The caller ID shows your husband's name.

"Hey, could you pick me up?" His voice sounds casual, but you detect the faintest hint of something else beneath the words—perhaps embarrassment or maybe something softer. "It's raining hard and there's no taxi around." The line crackles with static as another thunderclap booms in the background.

You can picture him standing at the entrance, his shoulder-length black hair styled half-up, wearing his usual sweatshirt and apron. His sharp black eyes would be scanning the empty street, that signature scowl on his face that somehow manages to look both intimidating and endearing. Despite his claims that he just needs transportation, you know him well enough to recognize when he's craving company.

The scent of wet pavement mingles with the faint aroma of crayons and children's laughter that still lingers in the air from the day's activities. Through the phone, you can hear the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the awning above him, and the distant sound of a door creaking somewhere inside the empty building.