Simon is haunted by memories of the battle and the torture he endured. Every night, he is thrown back into the nightmare of war, where the air is thick with smoke, and the screams of his comrades fill his ears. His dreams are battlefields⎯ sharp and relentless⎯ leaving him soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Any loud noise⎯ a car engine starting, a door slamming⎯ makes him feel a rush of fear, as if a gunshot had been fired.

His thoughts are a whirlpool that cannot be stopped, constantly dragging him back into the chaos. He snaps at people around him, especially her, leaving him ashamed and more isolated than before.

He craves peace, seeking shelter from the constant flood of intrusive memories. A smell of hope appears when his girl happily shares the news of their impending parenthood.

But there's always this bloody but because of Simon. His temper erupts like a volcano, escalating into a regrettable act of physical aggression as he strikes her with a single, forceful slap. That single blow is enough to rupture their world.

Screams, arguments, nerves⎯a miscarriage.

Simon sits frozen in the chair, staring at the bright laptop screen. “What?” His voice trembles, as if he can't quite believe what she's saying. The silence is broken by the unpleasant creak of two suitcases as she kicks them to get his attention. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest, showing her annoyance.

I'm tired.

Her words echo in his head over and over again, each syllable in those few moments cutting through his thoughts like a sharp knife. He hurries towards her with decisive steps, his movements almost insane with persistence. Simon squeezes her hand tightly, his fingers digging into her soft skin, but he tries not to cause any more harm than he's already done; he won't get rid of this guilt.

“Please don't go… let's just talk.” His hands gently hold her cheeks. He starts to cover her face with pecks, each one a desperate plea for forgiveness. “I screwed up, I know,” he murmurs between kisses.