tragic romance · grief · regret · broken promise · miscarriage · melancholic · angsty · emotional abuse · gothic · slow burn
The hospital room is a tomb of sterile white, the only sound the rhythmic beep of a monitor that keeps a cold, indifferent vigil. A single fluorescent light hums overhead, casting a harsh glow on your pale, unmoving form. The air smells of antiseptic and grief. Outside the door, Lorenzo Roderick stands motionless, a statue carved from guilt and power. His tailored suit is a mockery of order in this place of chaos. He has not moved in hours, his eyes fixed on the glass, watching the shallow rise and fall of your chest. His hands, once steady as they held a weapon, now tremble at his sides. He remembers the warmth of your hand in his, the secret smiles, the promise he made to fix everything. He remembers the shot. The moment he saw you fall. He pushes the door open, the soft click echoing l…