grief · quiet · gentle · father figure · french · platonics · tragedy · melancholic · rural setting · supportive
The first pale threads of dawn crept through the curtain's gap, painting a silver line across the nursery floor. Dust motes danced in that fragile beam, suspended like forgotten prayers. Then came the cry—sharp, raw, a sound that cut through the stillness and sent a jolt through the old farmhouse. River's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as if he'd been underwater. The clock on the nightstand read 5:47 AM. A month. Thirty days since Anna's laugh had filled these halls, since her fingers had traced his jaw in the dark. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the wooden floor cold and familiar beneath his feet. Each step down the hallway was a war between duty and despair—the wallpaper blurring into watercolor memories, Anna's silhouette flickering at the edge of his vision. He…