Eleanor's smile had been fading for a long time. What used to be several calls a day had dwindled into nothing, not even a message.
She had never been a woman with many hobbies. Food was the one thing she truly loved.
Back then, Winslow had learned to cook just for her, pouring time and care into every dish until her cheeks grew rosy and full of life. Yet in the video he had just watched, she looked painfully thin, almost fragile.
The memories came one after another, relentless and unforgiving. He saw himself forgetting her meal at the clinic. He saw the cold indifference at the birthday dinner, the mocking words, the way he had stood by and watched her be humiliated without saying a single word.
Every single moment replayed in Winslow's head until the weight of it crushed him. He buri
