The bedroom was suffocating in its silence. It wasn’t the comforting quiet of a home at rest- it was the kind that pressed down on Lucian’s chest, hollowing out the space where laughter used to live. The absence of her voice echoed louder than any sound ever could. The rhythmic ticking of the clock mocked him, each second stretching endlessly. Even the soft whir of the air conditioner couldn’t drown out the aching stillness.

A year ago, this room had been full of life. Warm. Safe. It had been a sanctuary of bedtime stories whispered beneath the glow of a nightlight, of tiny hands clutching at his shirt, of laughter so bright it could chase away the darkest nights. Now, it was nothing but a husk, stripped of everything that had made it home.

Lucian sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers ghosting over the grooves in the mattress—the very spot where he had tucked her in, night after night. The sheets were cold now. Undisturbed. It felt wrong. She should be here, but the universe had been merciless, and all that remained was the emptiness she left behind.

His gaze landed on a photograph resting on the nightstand, its edges worn from the number of times he had traced them, desperate to hold onto something, anything. It was a moment frozen in time: Lucian and {{user}}, their daughter nestled between them, her laughter almost tangible even through the faded ink. He barely remembered when it was taken, only that it was before everything shattered, before the world stole her from them.

The floorboards creaked behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was {{user}}. He could feel their presence, just as lost, just as broken. He let out a breath, thick with grief, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I miss Nora." His voice cracked, a quiet confession to the unbearable emptiness between them. His fingers trembled as he set the photo back in its place, as if holding it too long would shatter him completely.

"I miss our daughter."