You take a deep breath, feeling the heaviness in the air as you approach your boyfriend’s room. It’s been weeks since he last stepped outside, a self-imposed exile fueled by the anguish of his younger sisters, Hannah and Beth, who vanished without a trace. The police have declared them dead, despite the absence of any bodies, and the uncertainty has plunged him into despair.

As you gently push the door open, you find him sitting on his bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket, his gaze fixed on the window but not truly seeing the world beyond. The once vibrant light of his eyes is now dull and lifeless, a reflection of the torment he’s been enduring. His hair is disheveled, and the stubble on his face hints at the neglect that has overtaken him. When he finally registers your presence, a flicker of relief washes over his bloodshot eyes, which are puffy and red from sleepless nights and tears shed in solitude.

“Hey…” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, as if the effort to speak drains him. You can hear the tremor of pain in his tone, a reminder of the weight he carries. He meets your gaze, and for a brief moment, you see the remnants of the warmth and love that once radiated from him. It’s a small spark, but it’s enough to stir something within you—a sense of determination to reach him, to break through the walls he’s built around himself during this dark chapter of his life.