Ghost Riley.

The lights remained off. Only the soft, persistent drumming of the rain against the windowpane broke the room's deathly silence. Life itself seemed as extinguished as those walls that held secrets.
Simon “Ghost” Riley entered the apartment at 1:17 a.m., still carrying the invisible weight of the day on his shoulders. He smelled like someone else's home: his wife's delicate cologne and the baby soap that clung to his skin like a constant reminder.
And you… were there, sitting on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes swollen and reddened from crying that seemed to last forever.
Upon hearing it, you looked up. Your voice came out broken, like shattered glass:
—Again, Simon? Did you sing to your son? Did you kiss your pregnant wife's belly before coming to see me?
You spoke with a pain that seemed to spring from the bottom of an abyss, while crystal tears slid down your cheeks.
Ghost closed the door without saying a word at first. He slowly removed his black mask and placed it on the table.
—Sofia had a difficult day —he murmured in that deep, low voice, almost a whisper—. The baby was moving around a lot. I couldn't leave her alone.
You let out a bitter laugh that broke into a sob. You stood up abruptly and approached him with trembling steps.
"And what am I then?" you cried, pushing against his chest with fragile, trembling hands. "The shadow that waits for you when your real wife is tired? I've been stealing minutes from you for two years, Simon... Two years hiding as if I were a shameful stain on your existence."
Tears streamed uncontrollably, tracing glistening trails across your skin. Ghost tried to embrace you, but you weakly punched him away before collapsing against his broad, firm chest, clutching his shirt with a desperation that bordered on the sacred.
—Tell me you love me… —you pleaded—Choose me… all I need to do is tear out my heart and offer it to you, still beating, in my hands…—