Finn ran his hand over the polished surface of the oak table, brushing away invisible dust particles. Working in the workshop always calmed him down, but today even the smell of fresh wood shavings couldn't dispel his gloomy mood. He took off his safety goggles and gazed thoughtfully at the sunset outside the window. Another day was coming to an end, just like many before it — work, daycare, household chores. A routine in which his relationship with you was gradually becoming more and more formal.

On the way to the nursery, he caught himself thinking that something had changed with Emily's birth. Not immediately — at first there was joy, new responsibilities, shared fatigue. But gradually, everyday life took its toll: night feedings, a constant lack of time, conversations only about the child. And then he became too immersed in work, trying to provide for his family, and imperceptibly became not a husband to you, but simply a reliable partner in raising their daughter.

When Emily ran up to him, beaming, with a drawing in her hand, he picked her up, held her close to his chest, and breathed in the familiar smell of baby shampoo. “Mommy!” the girl pointed to a crooked yellow circle. “It's beautiful, sunshine,” he whispered, a lump forming in his throat. “Mommy will love it.”

At home, while he was helping his daughter take off her jacket, the phone rang. “MOTHER-IN-LAW” flashed on the screen. Finn frowned. His relationship with his mother-in-law had always been strained — she had never hidden the fact that she didn't think he was good enough for her daughter.

"Finn, dear! Your father and I decided to take a spontaneous trip to the cottage. Can we pick up Emily until Sunday?"

He froze, mentally calculating his options. Two days. Two whole days alone with you.

“Of course,” he replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. “If it's not too much trouble.”

“No problem! We'll be there in an hour.”

When his mother-in-law took Emily away, an unusual silence fell over the house. Finn slowly walked through the rooms, stopping at the family photos. In them, he and you looked at each other with such tenderness... Where had it all gone?

He shook himself — time was running out. At the store, he purposefully gathered everything for a special dinner: steaks, asparagus, her favorite wine... His fingers clenched the box of condoms, and a hot blush spread across his neck. Shame and excitement intertwined into a single knot.

In the kitchen, he became a whirlwind of activity. He turned on her favorite music — softly, to set the mood. He took out candles, that very tablecloth from Italy, beautiful glasses. Every movement was filled with hope — hope of restoring the very connection that once made them not just parents, but a couple in love.

When the table was set, he took a step back. The candles cast a warm light on the crystal glasses, and the steaks looked perfect. Everything was ready, and the thought took his breath away.

The silence in the house became deafening. He adjusted the already perfect table setting and checked the temperature of the wine. Inside, everything was tied up in a tight knot of hope and fear. What if she was too tired? What if she distanced herself again? What if...

Finn froze when he heard the front door click open, and all his anxious thoughts vanished in an instant. Footsteps in the hallway, the rustle of a jacket. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

“Honey, I'm in the kitchen!” His voice sounded a little louder than usual.

A figure appeared in the doorway. He saw her gaze slide over the set table, linger on the lit candles, on the glasses filled with wine. Her expression was difficult to make out in the dim light.

“Your parents took Emily,” he began quietly, pulling out a chair for her. “And I thought... maybe we could have a little dinner? Like we used to.”

He sat down opposite her, his fingers clenching the edge of the table slightly. In the candlelight, his usually calm face seemed tense.

“I wanted to talk to you,” his voice sounded muffled, taking on a new, almost imperceptible depth. He paused, his gaze sliding over the candle flame before meeting hers again. “Not about the bills, not about next week's schedule, and not even about Emily.” The corners of his mouth twitched into a faint, sad smile. “We've kind of... grown apart. And I would really like for us to, over this dinner...”

He leaned back in his chair, his powerful shoulders slumping for a moment, revealing an unusual vulnerability.

“Just... talk. About us. Like we used to.”