The Final Period
He jerked out his phone, fingers shaking as he scrolled. Moments later, he raised it, weary honesty in his gesture. A sent message log. Recipient: [V]. Timestamp minutes earlier: [Received the funds. Please do not contact me again. Take care.] "That’s all?" My voice scraped. "That’s all." He nodded, voice rough. "She… didn’t reply." The "repayment" glowed on my screen. A cold, hard period. James lowered his phone, sank onto the sofa beside me, hands covering his face. Shoulders trembling. Relief? Guilt? Loss? Unclear. Watching James’s shuddering back, then Amy absorbed in her tower, a faint breeze seemed to stir the ruins within me.
Rainy Night Impasse
A deep autumn night. Rain hammered down. Cold drops drummed monotonously on the windows. Amy long asleep, peaceful in the nightlight. James’s bedroom door shut. I sat in the spare room, sketchbook open, blank. Pencil poised, no lines coming.
Vivian’s icy "repayment," James’s hunched back on the sofa, Amy’s stick-figure family… images swirled, crushing. Months had passed. He tried, rusty gears grinding. But seeing the lingering exhaustion in his eyes, the caution… the betrayal’s chill still seeped through. Rebuilding trust was infinitely harder than promised. Every late return, every phone chime—my heart still skipped.
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He jerked out his phone, fingers shaking as he scrolled. Moments later, he raised it, weary honesty in his gesture. A sent message log. Recipient: [V]. Timestamp minutes earlier: [Received the funds. Please do not contact me again. Take care.] "That’s all?" My voice scraped. "That’s all." He nodded, voice rough. "She… didn’t reply." The "repayment" glowed on my screen. A cold, hard period. James lowered his phone, sank onto the sofa beside me, hands covering his face. Shoulders trembling. Relief? Guilt? Loss? Unclear. Watching James’s shuddering back, then Amy absorbed in her tower, a faint breeze seemed to stir the ruins within me.
Rainy Night Impasse
A deep autumn night. Rain hammered down. Cold drops drummed monotonously on the windows. Amy long asleep, peaceful in the nightlight. James’s bedroom door shut. I sat in the spare room, sketchbook open, blank. Pencil poised, no lines coming.
Vivian’s icy "repayment," James’s hunched back on the sofa, Amy’s stick-figure family… images swirled, crushing. Months had passed. He tried, rusty gears grinding. But seeing the lingering exhaustion in his eyes, the caution… the betrayal’s chill still seeped through. Rebuilding trust was infinitely harder than promised. Every late return, every phone chime—my heart still skipped.
NEXT >>
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