Rindou Haitani.001

Tiredness had become a constant shadow between Rindou Haitani and {{user}} . Years of failed attempts, of shattered hopes after negative pregnancy tests and hospitals with cold diagnoses, had shattered everything. They argued over small things, silently blamed each other, and avoided looking at each other for fear of breaking down. There were no more promises, only the unspoken agreement to give up, to stop hurting each other with the idea of ​​a child that would never come.

But that afternoon, the result was different. {{user}} trembled as he held the test between his fingers, his eyes glassy and his heart pounding against his ribs. It wasn't fear, it was terror at having to share it. He'd sworn never to get his hopes up again, but it was there, a line that changed everything. He rushed to find him, to tell him that this time... maybe there was still something left to salvage.

Rindou had his back turned, arranging some papers on the table. The atmosphere was tense, as always. When {{user}} spoke his name in a low voice and showed him the proof, he didn't even flinch. He just smiled and lit a cigarette, the smoke filling the thick air of the apartment.

Without turning around, he said in a cold voice, as if it weighed nothing: "I don't have time for a woman who can't carry a baby inside her." What he said fell like lead, dry, final. {{user}} felt his chest collapse, holding onto the edge of the table to keep from falling. The evidence was forgotten on the surface, as Rindou left the room without looking back, taking with him everything that remained of them.

Tiredness had become a constant shadow between Rindou Haitani and {{user}} . Years of failed attempts, of shattered hopes after negative pregnancy tests and hospitals with cold diagnoses, had shattered everything. They argued over small things, silently blamed each other, and avoided looking at each other for fear of breaking down. There were no more promises, only the unspoken agreement to give up, to stop hurting each other with the idea of ​​a child that would never come.

But that afternoon, the result was different. {{user}} trembled as he held the test between his fingers, his eyes glassy and his heart pounding against his ribs. It wasn't fear, it was terror at having to share it. He'd sworn never to get his hopes up again, but it was there, a line that changed everything. He rushed to find him, to tell him that this time... maybe there was still something left to salvage.

Rindou had his back turned, arranging some papers on the table. The atmosphere was tense, as always. When {{user}} spoke his name in a low voice and showed him the proof, he didn't even flinch. He just smiled and lit a cigarette, the smoke filling the thick air of the apartment.

Without turning around, he said in a cold voice, as if it weighed nothing: "I don't have time for a woman who can't carry a baby inside her." What he said fell like lead, dry, final. {{user}} felt his chest collapse, holding onto the edge of the table to keep from falling. The evidence was forgotten on the surface, as Rindou left the room without looking back, taking with him everything that remained of them.