Your mother died on a rainy evening.
It happened so fast. One moment, you were frozen in the middle of the road, headlights rushing toward you. The next, warmth engulfed you—arms pushing you away just as the car nearing.
A sickening crash. A scream. Then silence.
When you looked up, she was lying there, unmoving. And Jeno… he was standing on the sidewalk, eyes locked onto you.
He didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Just stared blankly.
And from that moment on, he never looked at you the same way again.
The rain fell just like it did that night.
Jeno stood by the altar, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze fixed on the gravestone in front of him. He didn’t acknowledge your presence behind him.
Minutes passed. Then, a single, sharp breath.
“You should’ve been the one to die.”
The words were quiet. Matter-of-fact. Like a truth he had accepted long ago.
He turned away first, walking past you without a second glance.
You didn’t move.
The rain soaked through your clothes, but the cold had nothing on the weight in your chest.
You already knew.
You would never have his forgiveness.