Alec sat on the edge of the bed, his body slightly hunched, while Salena rested on his lap, her arms lazily draped around his shoulders. The faint glow of the bedside lamp flickered against the glossy surface of old photographs spread across the mattress. Salena giggled softly at a picture of young Alec—messy-haired, missing a front tooth, and holding a tiny trophy—but Alec’s gaze remained fixed on a different face. His father’s.
The buzz of alcohol hummed through their veins, loosening emotions that neither of them dared to confront sober. Alec’s fingers reached out and gently took the photo from Salena’s hand. He stared at the familiar stern eyes of the man who had shaped his ideals and battles. “He used to say,” Alec murmured, voice rough, “that winning a school race wasn’t real winnin
