After a prolonged silence, her voice was gentle, almost a whisper.

"I spent the evening cooking a feast. Since you hadn't returned for dinner, I took it upon myself to feed the puppy downstairs."

Waylen's features remained stern, his worry refusing to dissipate. His gaze Locked onto her, his words gravelly.

"Promise me you won't wander these next two days.”

With a sense of determination, Waylen retreated into his study.

He knew he needed a respite, a brief reprieve from the mounting tension. Yet, as he settled into the dimly lit room, he found that his attempts at calming his nerves were in vain. He would know in two days if he succeed or not.

Waylen was smoking quietly. Time seemed elusive in the hushed stillness. How many days had passed in this dream, and what did it translate to in reality?

His thoughts were a tempest of concern, for Rena, and for the life they had created, their third child, a daughter named Elva. ©

Waylen's frustration grew, manifesting in the ashtray overflowing with spent cigarettes. The uncertainty was nearly suffocating.

Then, like a breath of solace, the door creaked, and Rena slipped into the room.

She nestled herself into Waylen's embrace, the soft Light casting a delicate glow upon her. Tucking her against him, Waylen felt the tension slowly ebbing away. Rena's arms encircled his waist, and she inquired with tenderness.

"Waylen, what's troubling you?"

In her neglected state, Rena embodied an innocent vulnerability that tugged at his heart.

Rena's protest was quiet yet firm.

“I haven't done anything wrong.” Initially preoccupied, Waylen's attention shifted as Rena melted into his embrace, her delicate frame a testament to her fragility.

His fingers brushed against the slender strap of her silk nightgown, a contrast to his own agitation.

“Did you wear this on purpose?" Waylen's voice was tinged with a husky rasp, his fingers dancing along the silken edge.

Rena lifted her gaze, her lips capturing his chin in a tender kiss. Throughout the moments that followed, their lips met in stolen caresses. Each kiss carried an unspoken question, a gasp of longing, and Rena's voice quivered as she asked, “Are you still angry?"

Waylen's touch traced the curve of her waist, and the tension in the room seemed to mirror the anticipation that crackled between them.

Longing mixed with urgency, and Waylen found himself captivated by the notion of release, of escaping the mounting pressure.

Yet, he was also driven by the tenderness of holding Rena in his arms, his beloved wife.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Waylen tilted his head, his Lips seeking Rena's. She met him in kind, her lips parting in a subtle invitation. In a moment of surrender, their bodies pressed together, igniting a fervent desire.