Inside, Marley stood motionless, the echo reverberating through her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild rhythm trying to break free from the cage of her chest. The redness in her eyes bore witness to the turmoil inside, a tempest too strong to be quelled by sheer willpower alone. Memories flooded her mind, bittersweet and sharp as shards of glass.
"Damn you, Oscar," she murmured, a solitary tear trailing down her cheek. She had poured herself into their love, shaping it with the hands of one who believed in fairytales. Yet now, standing amidst the wreckage, the truth loomed over her—a specter of what had been and what could never be again.
Her gaze roamed the room, tracing the cracks in the plaster, the worn edges of the furniture—each imperfection a testament to a life lived earnestly but not wisely. The old room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a mausoleum for her dead dreams. She closed her eyes tightly, seeking solace in the darkness behind her lids.
