THE LAW BETWEEN US

"You shouldn't come here so often," Ian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he scratched his brow with a trembling pinky. "Even if my mother insists... it’s better if you don’t." "I don’t want to offend her," Iris replied gently. "Next time, why don’t you turn her down... for both our sakes?" She lingered for a moment, eyes tracing his face—searching for something he no longer offered. Then, with a quiet exhale, she stepped into the waiting car. Ian stood frozen. A sigh escaped him, heavy and raw. His chest tightened; his eyes stung. He blinked the tears back and looked down at his phone. Their photo still lit up the screen—two smiles from a time that felt like someone else's memory. It tugged a fragile smile from his lips, the kind that hurts more than it heals. The old Iris would’ve reached for his hand. She would’ve smiled through the tension. But this version of her? She was colder. Sharper. Distant. Ian blinked slowly, forcing himself to remain still. “Because I was hoping you'd still want to come,” he admitted under his breath. “Even just for me. He talk to himself. He let out a quiet laugh. Bitter. Hollow. He wished she had yelled. He wished she had cried. Anything would’ve been better than that silence. He looked up at the sky. The clouds were shifting—grey crawling over gold. A storm was coming. Maybe it had already begun He drew in a deep breath, as if air could erase ache. Then he climbed into his Maybach and drove—not toward anything, but away. Away from the weight. Away from her. Away from everything that used to mean home.