grief · depression · guilt · husband · married life · tragedy · emotional breakdown · self-loathing · angsty
The front door clicks shut, then silence—broken only by the soft patter of rain against the window. A shadowed figure stands in the hallway, shoulders hunched, rain dripping from his coat. The air smells of damp wool and grief. Alec stumbles forward, his dark blue eyes red-rimmed, and collapses into your arms. His voice cracks. "Darling, I can't take it anymore, I miss our little angel." What can you even say to that?