At home, Laura was on the sofa, nursing the baby. Her slender waist was bare in the cool air.

Leaning against the doorframe, Morrison watched her silently.

Soon, the baby fell asleep.

Laura laid him on the sofa and adjusted her clothes.

She picked up her phone and glanced at the time.

“Have you eaten yet?" Morrison broke the silence.

Laura turned, surprised. “When did you get back? I didn't hear you."

"I didn't want to be heard," he said as the smell of alcohol wafted toward her.

Laura closed the door behind him. "Take a shower and go to bed."

She didn't inquire why he had been drinking or who had been with him.

She knew well enough — it must have been with Forrest.

Morrison wrapped his arms around her waist spun her around, and pressed her against the wall. He whispered, "Do you still miss him?"

"You are drunk," Laura started to say, her brow furrowing.

Before she could finish, Morrison kissed her, his actions more passionate and unrestrained than ever before, fueled by a mix of alcohol and raw emotion.

He hadn't asked Laura for her permission at all.

Laura winced, exclaiming, "What's wrong with you? Ouch..."

It marked the first time she had felt such intense pain.

She gripped his arm tightly.

Morrison left her feeling disoriented.

Eventually, she was rendered mute, unable to make even a sound.