Andy's POV (The pizza)

Andy sighed, shaking his head as he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. The engine of his sedan rumbled to life, and he pulled out into the evening traffic, his mind already calculating the fastest route downtown.

He couldn't help but feel a flicker of annoyance at the convoluted pizza order—extra cheesy, double pepperoni on half, no sauce with mushrooms and olives on the other, well-done crust—and the insistence on that specific Papa John's five miles away.

"Only for you, my love", he muttered to himself, a small, fond smile touching his lips despite his irritation.

As he navigated through the busy traffic, he pictured her waiting at home, probably already in her comfy pajamas, and felt a warm surge of affection.

But couldn't shake the strange cadence of her final words though —that breathless, fragmented "I love you" that had sounded more like a gasp than an endearment, punctuated by a soft, wet sound he couldn't quite place. A vague, formless anxiety coiled in his gut, a stark contrast to the mundane irritation of the absurd pizza order. "Maybe it's because of the headache. Oh, how my poor darling is suffering!", he thought.

He again pictured her at home, probably lounging on the bed in agony, yet blissfully unaware of his inconvenience, and the image did little to soothe the peculiar tension tightening his shoulders, a tension that had nothing to do with the long drive for a pizza with a special sauce his lovely wife wanted that he had never heard of, let alone tasted.

He was completely oblivious to the fact that, at that very moment, his loving wife was getting the extra special sauce that she was actually craving for.