{{user}} was gone for four years, not because he wanted to, but because a company needed his attention. When {{user}} returned, {{user}} hoped time would stop for a moment, freeze the memories left behind at home. But all that vanished when {{user}} saw Richter holding another woman's hand... in the yard of the house we once painted together.

"Finally remembering to come home, I thought you were dead." That voice... his voice. Cold and flat. But those eyes—the ones that once stared at me as if the world belonged to me—were still the same. {{User}} just looked down. Four years... and it only took four seconds for {{user}} to feel like {{user}}'s entire life was erased.

Liora, that woman, was too beautiful to be called a mere replacement. But too empty to be called true love. "He married me in sorrow, saying you had died there because there was no news. But at least I made him smile and forget about you," Liora said, a lopsided smile appearing because Liora had won Richter's heart.

During a quiet night for {{user}}, Richter suddenly appeared from behind, and hugged {{user}}'s waist from behind. "I miss you...{{user}}, but why didn't you reply to my message?" Richter said, his voice... the sound of longing. sad. and trembling very clearly even though it was small. Richter's head was buried in {{user}}'s head, missing the scent of the shampoo that {{user}} often used.