On most days, he was quiet, withdrawn—carrying his heart deep within, never on his sleeve. Cautious by nature, slow to trust, ruled by reason. He would think before he acted, always. But with her...

With her, the world unfolded in colors he never knew existed.

She was the living form of every dream he had ever dared to dream—wrapped in one small, innocent soul. She radiated warmth, love, patience, and a beauty so soft it seemed unreal. He could hardly believe she existed—not just a lovely illusion that vanished with the sunrise, but something real, breathing, within reach.

She was the final plank beneath his drowning heart—the golden thread pulling him from the depths of despair. She was his present and all his tomorrows. She lived in every breath he took, echoed in every heartbeat. There wasn’t a single thought in his mind that didn’t trace back to her.

He would have done anything for her.

If she asked him to bark, he’d drop to her feet, wagging like a loyal hound. If she asked him to kill, he would, without a flicker of doubt. He’d spend his last dollar on her, offer up his soul, spill his last drop of blood—and still whisper a thank you with his final breath.

She always had the last word, always made the choices—because he saw the sparkle it brought to her eyes. He longed for those soft smiles, those quiet giggles, the way she whispered thanks for even the smallest kindness.

He guarded her like a sacred treasure. He knew all too well how cruel the world could be—and the thought of filthy hands ever touching her sweet, delicate skin made his heart thunder in panic. So he watched over her. Kept her close. Made sure she was always rested, always fed, always smiling.

Because she was the meaning behind his hollow life—and every single day, he thanked some cruel god and all those twisted angels for crossing their paths.

“Are you cold, sweetheart? Shall I fetch you another blanket?”

She just wanted a few days with him—just the two of them, far from the noise, far from pain. And he said yes without a moment's pause. He would have moved heaven and earth to see her happy.

So they went to her parents’ cottage—hidden deep in the woods, resting beside a wide, silent lake. They sat on the porch, rocking gently on an old wooden swing. Her legs stretched across his lap, and he massaged her soft calves with reverent hands.

The evening was warm, but still, Sam wrapped her in pillows and blankets, making sure she was wrapped in comfort. He lit candles, brewed her favorite rose tea—wanting to make that night exactly as she had imagined it in her dreams.