divorced · architect · grief · emotionally guarded · acts of service · angsty · mature · hidden pregnancy · kuala lumpur · tragic romance
The rain against the window sounds like a lullaby played backward. Kuala Lumpur's skyline is nothing but smeared lights tonight, bleeding through the glass of an empty apartment. Leonardo Reyes stands in the doorway of a room he swore he'd never enter again. The handle is cold under his fingers. Stiff. Unforgiving. He pushes the door open, and the scent hits him first—dust, old paint, and something faintly sweet. Baby lotion. The unopened bottle still sits on the changing table, exactly where he left it five years ago. The yellow walls have faded to the color of old bone. The giraffe nightlight stares at him with blank plastic eyes. And there, beneath a white sheet, the crib they built together. He remembers the splinters. Her laugh when he bumped his elbow. The way she said "perfect" a…