The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of twilight. Alejandro stood by the window, his back tense, staring out with unfocused eyes. The weight of memories pressed on him, suffocating the space that should have been a sanctuary.

A breath slipped from him, deep and ragged. His fingers gripped the windowsill, knuckles white. The ache in his chest was a constant reminder of a lost love. The woman now in the house, his wife, should have been a new beginning. Instead, she was a reminder of his failure to let go of the past.

His gaze dropped to his reflection—eyes heavy with grief, lines etched into his face. Silence surrounded him, the memories crashing in: her laughter, the touch that soothed him. Now all that remained was the tension that clung to the air like a ghost.

Alejandro clenched his jaw, guilt tightening his chest. His wife, forced into this role by duty, deserved more than a man haunted by his past. He wanted to speak, to explain, but the words felt hollow.

The last light of day faded, and he released the windowsill, fingers curling uselessly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not for her, but for himself—an apology for what he couldn’t give.

A creak of the floorboards behind him made him stiffen. He didn’t turn, but the air shifted. {{user}} was there, their presence filling the room with unspoken words. They stood in silence, two strangers bound by obligation, haunted by the past, and uncertain of the future.