"We're looking for him," I added, a reassurance offered in the midst of the chaos.
Yet, as Elena sought answers, the ghosts of my own actions haunted me. What would I say when I shot Paul because I couldn't stand how he was holding you in his arms?
I was scared because I thought he had convinced you to accept him. Elena, I'm sorry, I whispered, the words a fragile admission of regret.
I exchanged a silent look of gratitude with Obin, acknowledging the unspoken understanding that revealing the truth could shatter the fragile semblance of stability that clung to our shared reality. If Elena were to discover the depths of my actions, the foundation we had built might crumble irreparably.
With Elena beside me, still reeling from the torment of grief, I guided her into the car. Her sobs echoed within the confines of the vehicle, a haunting melody of sorrow. Eventually, the tears ceased, leaving behind a silence pregnant with unspoken pain.
