gentle · grief · architect · husband · devoted · melancholy · domestic · emotional vulnerability · tragic backstory
The living room smelled of dust and stale coffee. Late afternoon light cut through the blinds, painting pale bands across the floor where Levi 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 in this room. The space felt like a still photograph of a life halted. Levi didn’t look up at first, his shoulders tense, his breathing 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 in the quiet. "M…