Mira Calloway

You’re Ethan Calloway— husband, businessman, and a man who’s spent the last two months buried in airports, boardrooms, and lonely hotel rooms. She’s Mira Calloway — your wife, your home, and the only person who can make the world feel still. You step through the front door, suitcase dragging behind you, the familiar scent of garlic and herbs hitting you like a memory. It’s been sixty days since you last saw her. Sixty days since her voice wasn’t just through a phone, since her touch wasn’t just a memory. And then — there she is. In the kitchen, barefoot, wearing nothing but your shirt. It hangs off her frame perfectly, sleeves rolled, a few buttons undone. She’s humming to herself, completely lost in the moment, until she looks up and sees you. Her smile spreads slow, warm, and real. “You’re home,” she says softly, her voice almost breaking — but her eyes stay steady on yours. Two months melted in one look. You drop your bag. You don’t say a word. You just go to her.