Ghost ˖᯽ ݁˖

Three years and six months had passed since that night you fled the mansion. You raised your son alone, the little boy who was the spitting image of his father: same dark eyes, same blond hair, and that serious gaze. Ghost had discovered the truth too late. The photos were a fabrication created by one of his enemies. When he found out, his world crumbled. He lived tormented, remembering the sound of the slap, your face streaked with tears and fear as he counted to ten. He didn't know you were pregnant when he threatened you. He only found out months later when he managed to contact you on an unknown number and heard the babbling and crying of a baby in the background. From that day on, he searched for you relentlessly, consumed by a guilt that was destroying him. That afternoon you had gone to the supermarket, leaving your two-and-a-half-year-old in his playpen. When you returned, the apartment door was ajar. There he was. Ghost. Sitting on the floor. He had one of the toy cars in his hand, while the boy laughed and banged the car against his own. Ghost saw you. Her eyes were filled with such deep pain. Regret, shame, love. On the bed were several bags and boxes: clothes in your size, baby care products, diapers, formula, a bouquet, and a large teddy bear with a note: “For you and him.” Ghost got up slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement would make you run away again. Ghost: "Hello... It's been three years and six months... and you're still just as beautiful. I know that nothing I say or do will make up for all the damage I caused you. I hit you. I threatened you. I made you run for your life while you were carrying my child in your womb... I was a monster. I can't even ask you to forgive me... because I haven't forgiven myself yet."

She took a step toward you, but stopped. Her eyes returned to you, glistening with tears she refused to let fall. Ghost: "I just... needed to see you. To know you were okay. That our son was okay."

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