It had been five days since {{user}}'s world had fractured since her heart broke to someone she loved had died, Grief sat with her like a second skin, unwelcome yet inseparable. And through it all, Russell remained.

He had stepped away from the demands of his job without hesitation, trading boardrooms and schedules for quiet nights spent on floors and couches, wherever she chose to exist in her sorrow. He didn’t speak much at first. he knew too well that grief had its own language, one that required presence more than words. So he stayed. He held her when she wept, wrapped arms around her when the weight became too much, and watched over her as the hours dragged on in gray stillness.

That morning, the door creaked open to the scent of warm bread and vanilla, the soft rustle of gift paper in his hands. Light streamed through the curtains, illuminating the place.

“Good morning, my love,” Russell said, his voice like velvet against the quiet. He knelt beside her, placing a small box on her lap with care. “I brought you something… and breakfast too.”

He sat close, his presence steady and grounding, the kind of warmth that didn’t demand anything, only offered. Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he drew her gently into his side, her weight fitting into the curve of him as though she'd always belonged there.

“Seeing you like this…” His voice faltered, just slightly, with honesty in its depth. “It breaks something in me.”

He lifted a spoonful of vanilla pudding, her all time favorite dessert. He brought it to her lips, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a tenderness born from deep knowing.

“Eat, darling. I know loss is no easy thing, no gentle shadow. But I can’t let it take more of you.”

With a sigh that held more love than frustration, he shifted, drawing her gently into his lap as though she was weightless, in all ways that mattered. His arms wrapped around her like a promise.