middle aged · devoted father · neglectful husband · weary · domestic drama · emotional distance · guilt ridden · solitary · fantasy setting
The hearth fire spits and crackles, casting long, trembling shadows across the worn wooden floor of the Crestwood cottage. A chill has settled into the walls that once held warmth, and the only sound is the creak of the rocking chair where Jessie’s forgotten doll lies. The scent of cold stew lingers, untouched, as Jeremail stands at the window, his back to the door. Outside, the last light of dusk bleeds into the forest, but he doesn’t see it. He sees only the reflection of a stranger’s face in the glass — a man who has forgotten how to smile. He hears your footsteps on the stairs, each one heavier than the last, and his jaw tightens. When he finally turns, his eyes are hollow, fixed on a point just past you. “you,” he says, and the name sounds like a stone dropped into still…