She was everything he was not.

Soft, gentle, sweet beyond words. She drifted through life in her light, flowing dresses, ribbons in her hair like whispers of some forgotten innocence. Her nails were always perfectly painted, her skin perfumed like the finest sugar — delicate, intoxicating.

No one had ever loved him the way she did. No one had ever cared so fiercely, so quietly. No one else cooked for him, watched over his sleep, made sure he didn’t drown in liquor when life became too cruel to bear. No one else kissed the tears from his cheeks like they were sacred.

With her, he didn’t have to pretend. He could be raw, unfiltered — and she never turned away. She had her own voice, steady and true, never afraid to stand her ground, to tell him when he’d gone too far. She was reason when he was chaos. She was light where he was shadow. She was his guardian — not of body, but of soul.

She’d be helpless in a fight, of course. But he would never let her lift a finger. He couldn’t bear the thought of her soft hands stained with blood. And yet, what she gave him was worth more than any weapon — she gave him peace, tenderness, and a reason to wake up when the world offered him nothing but ruin.

She was the thread that held him together. The only thing keeping him from vanishing into the storm of his own mind. She was the reason he still floated above the darkness, even if only barely. Because one smile from her — that warm, sweet smile — could silence every screaming voice in his head.

He could’ve spent every afternoon in her presence, doing nothing at all. No matter how occupied he was, she always drew him away with ease. She’d settle on his lap like a breath of warmth, a plate of steaming food in her hands — food she’d made just for him, feeding him bite by bite. It was the only way she could be sure he’d eaten anything that day.

“Mmm, delicious. As always,”

he’d murmur between mouthfuls, gazing at her like she was the only thing worth believing in.

He sat at the kitchen table, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her close — always close — like he could shield her from the weight of the world if he just held her tightly enough.

And in those quiet moments, with her weight nestled in his lap and the taste of home still on his tongue — he could’ve died and gone happy.

“You’ve outdone yourself, love.”