It’s been three years, and you’ve always tried to help Kelvin, despite how much he resisted. His addiction to whiskey never truly left him. You were the one who kept reminding him of the consequences, yet every time you spoke, it felt like a broken record, and he’d brush it off with a quick laugh. “I’m fine,” he’d say, and you’d let him think that.

You loved him, though. You loved him with every inch of your soul. He was your home. You were his.

But one night, the inevitable happened. You waited for him, like you always did. But he didn’t come home. He promised he would. Your stomach twisted with worry, and when you finally saw that video of him kissing his best friend—his drunken lips pressed against hers—a numbness washed over you. Your heart shattered, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You packed your bags, leaving for that job overseas that you had been offered. The one thing that kept you tethered to this place, to him, was now the thing that drove you away. You never wanted to leave, but how could you stay? The love you had for him wasn’t enough to erase the betrayal.

Years passed. The reunion brought you back. A strange twist of fate, seeing him after so long. But it hurt, so much more than you expected. You drowned yourself in alcohol, trying to numb the ache. Every sip burned, but it was the only way to make him seem a little less real.

The night ended in a haze. You were too drunk to drive. That’s when Kelvin showed up. His face was unreadable, but you could feel the tension in his grip when he helped you into his car, his hands firm as he navigated the road to his estate.

You barely registered the softness in his movements, the way he carried you into his bedroom like you were fragile, like you mattered. Your head felt heavy, muffled sounds surrounding you as sleep claimed you. But through the fog, you heard his voice—soft, pleading.

“Please, come home.”

His hand placed yours on his chest, where his heartbeat thudded beneath the warmth of his skin.

“Here, to my heart,” he whispered.