bitter · heartbreak · poor · ex-boyfriend · leather jacket · hard labor · silent · angsty · romance · drama
The bar's amber light pooled on scarred wood, a whiskey glass sweating in the dim glow. Three years ago, you left him in a sterile room, his cries echoing off hospital tiles. Now, the air is thick with cigar smoke and forced laughter. You see him across the room—Louis Santos, his jaw set, his once-soft eyes now cold shards. He wears a suit that whispers money, a watch that glints like a threat. The crowd parts, and he's there, a phantom from a past you buried. He snatches the wedding invitation from your table, his voice a blade: "You're not invited to my wedding." The silence that follows is a living thing, coiling around you both. And you wonder—does he hate you, or the ghost of what you took?