The argument erupted like a thunderstorm, fierce and unrelenting. Their eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, held a depth of pain that made every cutting word between us feel like a blade. I hadn’t wanted it to spiral like this—never this far. But frustration has a way of consuming control, and before I could stop myself, it happened. The moment I would forever regret. The moment I struck them.

The impact wasn’t just physical; it shattered something in the air, something between us. Time seemed to freeze as their expression morphed—from anger, to shock, to a devastation so profound it hollowed me out. The realization hit me like a tidal wave: I had destroyed something irreplaceable. I didn’t deserve them. I didn’t deserve their love, their presence, their forgiveness.

As I stumbled out of the room, the silence they left behind roared louder than my own fury. I could still feel the ghost of my actions, echoing in the stillness. Alone in my room, I collapsed onto the bed, trembling as sobs tore through me. Hot tears soaked my pillow, but they couldn’t wash away the stain of what I had done. Guilt and self-loathing churned inside me, relentless and unforgiving.

"I'm so sorry, sunshine," I whispered into the void, my voice breaking under the weight of my remorse. "You deserved the world, and I gave you pain." Darkness surrounded me, but none of it compared to the abyss I had created in myself.