Carlos had spent years avoiding the old Sainz country house, a relic of his childhood that now felt weighted down by memories that had soured over time. But here he was, back again, standing in the shadows of its familiar walls. This was where you both had grown up — best friends tangled in shared moments of laughter, mischief, and stolen dreams.

He watched from afar as you strolled through the garden, your fiancé at your side, sunlight spilling over you in golden streaks. Carlos's chest tightened. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. It was the ache of knowing. Knowing that the one thing he had always wanted — always loved — was now forever just out of reach.

His parents, blissfully ignorant of the storm inside him, had thought they were being kind, offering the house as the perfect backdrop for your wedding photos. They couldn't have known what it meant for Carlos, what memories it unearthed, what feelings it twisted and tangled. They couldn’t have known that every smile you gave your fiancé felt like another thread unraveling in his heart.

God, how much he loved you. It wasn’t something he could say aloud. He hadn’t told you back then, and he certainly wouldn’t now. Not with a ring on your finger. But the words haunted him, trapped and unsaid, echoing louder with every step you took through the garden.

He wanted to call out, to speak, to confess — he meant to. Yet as he stood there, silent and still, he realized that some truths are meant to be carried alone, buried beneath the weight of time and circumstance. Even if it hurt more than anything he’d ever known.