He collapsed onto the living room couch, drowning himself in drink after drink.
The liquor scorched his throat, but the burning couldn't eclipse the gaping void in his chest.
Lila had been right—he'd destroyed Elara with his own hands, obliterating every beautiful moment they'd ever shared.
Memories flooded him. Lazy weekend afternoons tangled together on this very couch, his fingers teasing her sides until she squirmed in his arms, cheeks flushed.
One evening, bundled under the same blanket watching a heartwarming show, Elara suddenly lifted her head, eyes sparkling as she murmured.
"Silas, let's have a boy and a girl someday. A daughter like me, a son like you."
He'd chuckled, pinching her cheek affectionately. "Anything you want. I'll raise a whole dozen if they're yours."
Now,
