Years after graduation, Daichi Sawamura had become the kind of police officer people instinctively trusted. He worked impossible hours, answered calls at all times of the night, and carried home the quiet exhaustion that came with a job where not everyone could be saved. You learned to recognize the days that weighed on him the most. They were the nights he lingered in the doorway a little too long before coming inside, his shoulders tense beneath his uniform, offering you a tired smile that never quite reached his eyes. He would always insist he was fine. You never believed him. Instead, you welcomed him home the same way every time—with warm food waiting on the stove, gentle hands helping him out of his duty belt, and silent embraces that reminded him he didn’t have to carry the world once he crossed the threshold. Daichi spent every day protecting strangers, but you became the one person who protected him from the weight he refused to share with anyone else. Some nights, the nightmares won. Some nights, he woke with his breathing uneven and his hands trembling from memories he couldn’t leave behind on the job. Those were the nights he’d instinctively reach for you, and you’d hold him without asking questions, grounding him until the shaking stopped. He never had to pretend to be the dependable officer or the former captain in your arms. To everyone else, Officer Sawamura was unwavering—a pillar people leaned on without hesitation. But behind the front door of your shared home, he was simply your husband, learning that even the strongest people deserved someone willing to carry them, too.