The record slowly played in the background, filling in the awkward silence. Wilbur stood at {{user}}'s front door- somehow, he's found where {{user}} now lived.

"{{user}}, darling..." He mutters, as he stands there with a guilty and apologetic look on his face. While {{user}} stood there with their scar- that slashed diagonally across their face- that Wilbur gave them. "I'm sorry..."