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Naushe produced the key from beneath the mat at the foot of his front door, stuffing it inside the lock beneath the handle, and jarred the knob until it yielded to the force pitted against it. The door swung open.

He advanced inside, gently pulling the door shut behind him, then took to climbing the stairs again. His brows furrowed at the muddled footsteps, likely made by his wife, but it wasn’t a cadence that worried him-- it wasn’t until what sounded akin to a stool toppling over, followed by a harsh thud, that he felt inclined to rush up the remainder of the staircase to investigate in a hurry. He threw open the bedroom door, only to freeze on the spot.

A knotted rope hung from the rafters at the center of the room, fashioned up to serve as a noose, and Mariah lied sprawled out across the floor just a few feet from the overturned chair. She appeared dazed, clutching at the back of her head with a hiss of pain slipping through clenched teeth. Her dark eyes quickly rose to find her husband in the doorway and her face paled a few shades.

Naushe shook his head subtly, a gesture that snapped him from his reverie and back to the present. Initially, he stumbled forward, but broke into a run that ended in a sliding crouch at his wife’s side. He didn’t wait for an explanation, merely slipping his hands beneath her armpits to elevate her to the foot of the bed. Mariah’s body then began to tremble. Naushe didn’t say a word.

He took a seat next to her and gingerly, cautiously, guided her in closer to him, tenderly placing a palm against the side of her head to press her cheek to his chest. It was then when he felt the hot tears against his skin, droplets spattering upon his forearm below, and he responded only by snaking said arm about her waist to close the gap between them. The two lingered at the bed’s end in relative quiet, save for the shuddering breaths that Mariah took every so often. It felt as though an eon passed before either of them broke the silence.

“Shh,” Naushe hushed, drawing his left hand up to elevate her chin. She originally resisted, obviously ashamed and terrified; however, her will collapsed and she allowed him to do as he wished. Her timid gaze eventually locked with his. She immediately withered beneath the look he offered, an air of stern, stoic rigidity.

His jaw tensed as his stare darted from her left eye to her right, repeating the process over and over in quick succession. Mariah winced and her lids pulled tight into a wounded expression, but she caved, pressing further forward to bury her face into his chest with a smothered cry. Her husband gently combed his fingers upward through her hair as she leaned into him, his own breath hitching at the very thought of her succeeding if he hadn’t arrived in time. He bowed his own head and planted his lips upon the top of her skull, ultimately dipping lower and resting his left temple against her thick, coarse hair. Naushe closed his eyes with a shudder of his shoulders.

“Yer alroight,” he cooed, voice lower than a whisper.