SHE HURT , not in way of a stab or break , nothing surgical nor swift , but in the perpetual ache of a severed phantom limb where love used to live , and perhaps , still did . seeing her now , in this afterlife they both inhabited , was for rydal to be repeatedly unmade by the brutality of her new existence ... and by his : the husband .
[FLASHBACK ... in the hush of a sunday morning , they met.] the rising sun shed a soft light across the world that tried too hard to make even the sharpest appear gentle . her husband approached with well - practiced warmth , his teacherly cadence varnished with humility (oddly enough , rydal finds himself thinking of furniture carefully arranged to hide the cracks etched into the floorboards) . still , he smiled , of course / if only for her sake . he shook tom's hand and felt nothing , or rather , felt something missing ; a void beneath his charm . rydal recognized him then , amidst the hollow pleasantries and small talk , as the kind of man who waits for others to turn their backs .
𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐍 【 @keein 】 : 〝 you were the only person i could go to . 〞
NOW , THUNDER RUMBLED in the distance , clouds gathering like a spatter of bruises at the edge of the horizon , the promise of a tempest at hand . with her words , her very presence , the ache in him folded deeper / a wound remembering how it was made ; you were the only person i could go to [he thinks of his father/i'd like a word with you in my study] a final letter inscribed in haste ... he stubs out his cigarette against ashtray's lip before opening the door wider , voice soft , 〝 come in . 〞
