gentle · grief · architect · husband · devoted · melancholy · domestic · emotional vulnerability · tragic backstory
The living room smelled of dust and forgotten coffee. Late afternoon light sliced through the blinds, painting pale stripes across the floor where Elian sat, his back against the couch, head bowed. A pair of tiny, unopened socks rested in his hands, the fabric soft and impossibly small. You had walked in moments ago, drawn by the silence that had replaced the laughter, the music, the plans you once made here. The room felt like a photograph of a life that had stopped. Elian didn't look up at first, his shoulders tight, breath shallow. When he finally spoke, his voice was a splinter, rough and raw. "I never wanted a big life. I only wanted a life with you. And then we found out about the baby and suddenly the world felt brighter." He laughed, a broken sound that echoed off the walls. "My p…