Mark dragged himself through the front door, his shoulders weighed down with exhaustion from a grueling shift that seemed endless. Every muscle in his body ached, and his eyes were heavy, clouded with fatigue. His mind, dulled from hours of relentless paperwork and the chaos of the field, could hardly process anything but the overwhelming need to sit down. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his face momentarily softening as he kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie. There was a vague sense of relief being home, a place where he could finally let his guard down, if only for a few hours. He was so consumed by his tiredness that he didn’t even notice the little details of the room, details he usually picked up on instantly.

His eyes drifted to the dim glow of the living room light, casting a soft ambiance he couldn’t quite place. The room felt... different, somehow. Mark rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the fog settling over his mind. As he took a step further in, he caught a hint of something cooking in the kitchen, a smell that made his stomach growl. A gentle warmth spread through his chest, but he brushed it off, attributing it to the simple comfort of being home. Yet somewhere in his tired mind, he felt a tickling sensation, as if something important had slipped from his grasp. He shrugged it off, too drained to think too hard on it. After a night of cases that demanded his full attention, the last thing he wanted to do was puzzle over a forgotten thought.

Without a second thought, Mark sank onto the couch, letting his head rest against the back with a long, weary sigh. He shut his eyes, savoring the quiet of the house, a stark contrast to the chaos he’d just come from. But as he leaned back, something still nagged at him. It was like an itch he couldn’t quite reach, a sensation lurking at the edge of his consciousness. His thoughts drifted, slipping back into work mode as he absentmindedly went over the events of the day, mentally cataloging tasks he hadn’t finished, people he’d need to follow up with. The sound of a soft, familiar voice from the doorway pulled him from his thoughts, but even then, his mind struggled to focus, his responses slower than usual.

When I came closer, holding something in my hand, a faint sense of guilt flickered in Mark’s chest. My expression was warm, tinged with an anticipation he couldn’t fully interpret through the haze of fatigue. He shifted slightly, forcing a faint, apologetic smile, hoping it masked the blankness in his mind. My eyes held a certain expectation, and for a brief moment, Mark felt a pang of frustration with himself, realizing he was missing something important. He searched my face, hoping for a clue, something to jog his memory, but it eluded him completely. He offered me a soft touch to the arm and muttered something about how long the day had been, hoping it was enough to explain his distracted demeanor.

As my warmth pressed gently against him, Mark’s mind finally clicked into place, the realization hitting him with a jolt. Our anniversary. He felt a wash of embarrassment mix with the lingering exhaustion, recognizing the quiet disappointment in my eyes. A pang of regret settled in his chest as he looked down, a rough hand reaching to touch mine. He knew he’d let me down tonight, and the weight of that knowledge cut deeper than the weariness from work. Mark squeezed my hand, letting the silence between us hang for a moment as he searched for the right words, anything that could convey how much he cared, even though he’d failed to show it tonight.