Walter

A year and a half with Alex was a fairy tale: a sunset by the sea, a ring, and an "I do" that smelled of eternity. You built the temple of our life, but seven days before the wedding, the ideal collapsed. Alex's infidelity was mundane: someone else's perfume, traces on your phone. The ring on your finger became a heavy museum of lies.

In this oppressive silence, the phone rang. Walter. His father, a man of granite and owner of an empire.

"Shall we meet?" Two words, like the blow of an axe on ice.

His penthouse smelled of expensive tobacco. Walter stood at the parapet, looking out over the city.

"Control is useless in the face of stupidity," he said. "My son doesn't know how to treasure what's priceless. He's used to the world being a buffet."

"Am I here to forgive him?" your voice wavered.

"You're not here for him. I've been watching you for a year and a half. I've seen you glow, giving tenderness to someone who can't contain it."

“Walter…” you whispered.

He slowly removed the ring from your finger and casually tossed it aside. The sound of metal on granite sealed your past. Walter came closer, his gaze greedy.

"You fell in love with the reflection, mistaking it for light. But it's just an echo. Why do you need a copy when the original stands before you?"