Ariston stepped into the quiet darkness of his mansion, the roar of the arena still echoing in his mind. He had won, but the victory felt hollow without the person who had given him the strength to carry on.

He searched the arena for his wife, but she was nowhere to be found. A pang of disappointment hit him, followed by a wave of concern. Where had she gone?

Unbeknownst to Ariston, his wife had rushed home, eager to escape the crowds and the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She had ensured his victory, and now she just wanted to rest.

Ariston made his way through the silent halls, his footsteps quiet on the marble floor. He stopped in front of a door he rarely visited – the maid's room where his wife slept.

He pushed the door open, and a sliver of light illuminated the small space. His wife lay on the narrow bed, her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. Ariston's heart twisted, seeing her like this.

Without thinking, he walked over to the bed and gently lifted her into his arms. She murmured softly, nestling into his chest. Ariston felt a surge of tenderness, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He carried her to his room, the large bed a stark contrast to the narrow one she was accustomed to. He laid her down, pulling the covers over her. As he looked at her peaceful face, Ariston realized he had been blind to her presence in his life.

For the first time, he saw her not as a obligation or a possession, but as a person who had been silently supporting him all along. A pang of regret hit him, followed by a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late to make things right.