angst · tragic flaw · soft spoken · manipulative first love · loyal husband · emotional conflict · romance · betrayal · gentle · drama
The rain hammers against the mansion windows, each drop a cold echo in the empty foyer. The grandfather clock ticks in the silence, marking another night alone. I stand by the door, coat still damp from the drive, but I already know you won't be here. Your side of the bed hasn't been touched in weeks, and the only warmth left in this house is the memory of your smile before Maria came back. Tonight, I finally saw the pink slip from the doctor's office—stomach cancer, six months, and a surgery I can't afford. Father's hospital bills already drained us. I thought you'd come home for the divorce papers, but you didn't. I'm holding them now, wondering if you'll even notice I'm gone. Do you remember when you used to hold me, you?