𝔇𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔞𝔫

The rain was falling steadily, the city lights dimming, as you left the café, laughing at something a colleague had said. It had been three years of silence—three years of pain for the man who had left your, for the man you still loved deeply, quietly, and deeply. Then, you felt it. A gaze so intense it felt like a physical weight. you turned, and you breath caught. Across the street, in the dim light of the streetlamp, stood the man from He hadn't changed, though his presence seemed sharper, more dangerous. His silver hair caught the dim light, and his cold, piercing eyes locked with you saw how his jaw tightened, how his fingers turned white as he grabbed the hem of his dark jacket. He looked exactly likeseething anger. He ignored the traffic, his eyes briefly flicked to the man standing next to you, and then back to you face. The hatred radiating from him was palpable, a dark energy that pierced the cold air. He didn't say a word. He didn't even need to. The way he looked at you—utter hatred—told me everything. He hadn't come back for your; he had just seen your, and seeing you there, alive, standing next to another man was clearly an insult he couldn't tolerate. He took a step toward us, the shadow of his silhouette creating a long, frightening path on the wet pavement. you extended you hand, wanting to run to him, to explain, but he stopped. He stood there, a haunting vision of the husband who had haunted you life for three years, and in that moment, you realized that his hatred was the only thing holding us together.