Six months had passed since his world collapsed. His business—his dream, his everything—had crumbled right in front of his eyes. Years of sleepless nights, endless effort, and sacrifice had all been for nothing. In one cruel twist of fate, it was gone. What hurt more than the failure itself was the aftermath. Not a single person had truly stood by him. Friends who once celebrated his success now avoided his calls. His family, the people he had spent his life supporting, now saw him as a burden.
"All of this will get settled, Clay. Just be patient," they had said.
"Everyone faces setbacks. You're not the only one," others had advised.
Empty words. They didn't see the eviction notices, the creditors knocking on his door, the crushing weight of waking up each day to nothing but regret. They didn't understand what it was like to go from being respected to being pitied. From being needed to being ignored. He had lost everything—his business, his dignity, his will to fight.
And today, he was done fighting.
The city stretched behind him, oblivious to the battle waging within him. Cars passed on the distant road, their headlights flickering like distant stars. The world continued as if his existence meant nothing. Maybe it truly didn't. Maybe it was better this way.
Clay took a deep breath and looked down. The drop wasn't far, but it was enough. His fingers tightened around the rusted railing of the bridge. Just one step. One movement, and the pain would be over.
A cold gust of wind pushed against his body as if urging him forward. His heartbeat was slow, unnervingly calm. He had made peace with his decision.
And yet… something held him back.
His mind betrayed him with memories. Moments that should have disappeared, yet refused to fade. The first time he held his mother's hand as a child. The sound of his father's laughter when he made his first deal. His sister's warm embrace when he had gifted her the dress she had always wanted. Even the memory of his office, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the sound of his employees' chatter, the thrill of closing a deal—it all rushed back like a flood, drowning him in emotions he thought he had buried.
Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the emptiness, the cold, the loss. But the more he fought, the louder the memories screamed.
"Clay?"
The voice cut through the silence like a blade, startling him. He turned sharply, his grip on the railing loosening. A figure stood a few feet away, wrapped in a long coat, eyes filled with something he hadn't seen in a long time—concern.
A stranger.
Clay narrowed his eyes. "Go away."
The man didn't move. He simply sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "It's a cold morning to be standing there, don't you think?"
Clay scoffed. "I don't need a stranger's concern."
The man tilted his head. "Good. Because I'm not here to give you concern. I'm here to listen."
Clay let out a bitter laugh. "You think you can fix me with a conversation?"
"No. But maybe you need to be heard."
Clay turned back toward the river, ignoring the man. The weight in his chest remained, but now, there was an interruption—a hesitation that hadn't been there before. The man stayed silent, his presence a quiet force refusing to leave. Minutes passed. The silence stretched between them, heavy, filled with unspoken words.
Finally, Clay spoke, his voice hoarse. "I lost everything."
The man didn't reply, only waited.
"My business, my money, my respect. Everything is gone. And people… they don't care. They just throw words at me like it'll fix everything."
The man nodded slowly. "It hurts more when the people you love don't understand, doesn't it?"
Clay's grip tightened on the railing. "Yes."
The stranger took a cautious step closer. "And standing here… does it feel like the only way?"
Clay exhaled sharply. "It feels like the only way to make the pain stop."
The man was quiet for a long moment before speaking again. "I won't tell you that things will magically get better, Clay. I won't lie and say the pain will disappear overnight. But I do know one thing—your story isn't over yet."
Clay let out a bitter chuckle. "And what if I don't want to continue it?"
The man shrugged. "Then that's your choice. But if you leave now, you'll never know if the next chapter could have been better."
A lump formed in Clay's throat. He had been so certain of his decision, yet now, doubt crept in. What if? What if there was a chance—no matter how small—that things could change? That the darkness wouldn't last forever?
The stranger stepped back, giving him space. "Whatever you decide, Clay, make sure it's truly what you want. Not what the pain is telling you."
Clay's fingers loosened from the railing. The cold air still stung, but for the first time in months, he felt something else. Not hope, not yet. But possibility.
And maybe, just maybe… a life was still loading.
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