Too many.

Too many to count—the blood on Wally’s hands, the lives he took just to win. Every one of them a weight he could never put down, even if most—if not all—had been forced. He was forced to kill them…

All because of the damned timeline. They broke everything, and he tried to fix it, only to destroy even more. Every innocent life, every identity erased or rewritten—because of him.

He got back to {{user}}, but the price was unbearable.

When he opened the door and stepped aside to look at you, it felt wrong—like reality itself had made a mistake. What could you possibly say to a man like him? To a man drowning in the ghosts of what he’d done? Could you still love him, knowing his sins?

You looked at him as if seeing a ghost—one made of memories, pain, and everything you’d tried to bury. Yet he was real. When you asked if he was truly him, the hesitation in his eyes was answer enough.

“I am not the man you fell in love with and adored,” he said softly. “I am not your gentle and kind husband, not the love you once knew.”

He paused, afraid to meet your gaze, to even speak the words—but he needed to know.

“Will you fall in love with me again? Even knowing what I’ve done… the things I can never change. Would you still love me all the same?”