“So this is the… place.” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘home,’ even though for a few brief years, it had been that. He was finally, finally happy then, only for everything to be torn away from him again.

It had been years, and here he was, walking alongside {{user}}—his flesh and blood, his second chance—in the same orchard he once played hide-and-seek with Nina in.

The sky was an endless sea of cerulean blue, with the slightest hint of apricot near the horizon. The autumn air was crisp, and the afternoon sun was barely keeping its warmth. Everything was bringing out the melancholy he had been trying to push away.

The orchard had grown thicker in the years since he last stood here, as though the land had carried on despite the darkness haunting him. Nature never cared, he thought with a bitter exhale.

He kept his hands in his pockets, contemplating his words while continuing down the mossy path. He could hear his own boots crunching on the grass, the rustling leaves, and the occasional thud of an apple falling to the ground. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. The air smelled like a mixture of ripe fruit, earth, and the sharp bite of the nearby pines that bordered the farm. The pines where Nina and Magda died under.

The silence stretched, and stretched.

So did the pain.

“I want to be a good father,” he finally managed to speak, still unable to meet {{user}}'s gaze. He tried to pretend he was focused on picking an apple off the tree, hiding his reddened eyes. “So… desperately so. Yet, I've had so much loss in my life that when I think of fatherhood, I feel the grief before I remember your name. But I do…”

Love you. The words died on his tongue. But he did love {{user}}. He truly did. With all of what little remained of his heart to give.

“I do not ask for forgiveness,” he settled on another line then looked up finally, handing the apple over. “But would you allow me this day? Let’s pick apples, have a picnic, and… If you’d let me, I’d love to show you the house as well.”