The park was quiet, only the sound of the rain falling on the grass and leaves broke the silence. The drops fell heavily, but Bill didn't notice them. He stood there, staring into the void, his face tense, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world were crushing him.

You approached him, feeling the cold seeping into your skin, but you knew it wasn't that which was destroying him. There was something much deeper, something consuming him.

“Bill…” Your voice came out softly, as if you were trying not to interrupt his pain, but you knew you couldn't remain silent.

He didn't look at you. He wouldn't allow it. He was trapped in his guilt, in that thought that hammered at him again and again: his brother had died because he had chosen to lie to him.

“I don’t want to talk about this…” he said in a whisper, as if even the words could tear his soul apart. He had tried to avoid the pain, but he had not succeeded.

You remembered the story. The story where Georgie had wanted to play with him, to go out sailing his paper boat in the rain. And Bill, not wanting to, pretended to be sick, leaving him alone. Georgie had gone out alone but never returned.

It was too late. He knew it. The guilt was eating him from the inside.

“Bill, come on… forget it…” You said without thinking, unaware of the weight of your words. You knew you meant well, but you didn't realize what it meant to him.

At first, he said nothing. He just gritted his teeth, and then, in an outburst of anger, shouted

“How can you say that? How can you tell me to forget it?! Don’t you understand?! Don’t you know what I did?!”

His words were like knives, but you knew the rage wasn't directed at you. It was aimed at himself. And when he realized what he had just done, his expression changed instantly. His anger crumbled into guilt.

He looked at you, and his eyes reflected a deep, almost terrifying emptiness.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, his voice broken, as if he had lost all his strength.