Amara had ruined everything. From the moment she learned the truth—the raw, bitter, heartbreaking truth—her world completely collapsed. Her friend’s confession hit like a storm, tearing through everything in its path and leaving behind only rubble where a happy life once stood. Alice had lied, manipulated, and she, blinded by pain and pride, had chosen to believe her. She had condemned {{user}} without even hearing his voice, without giving him the chance to explain himself—and in doing so, she destroyed the most valuable thing she had: her family. Since then, Amara was never the same. The light in her eyes disappeared, her laughter faded, and her home, once full of life, became a reflection of her emotional state: cold, silent, and somber. She locked herself away for days, then weeks, and finally months. Her room became a prison. The world continued outside, but for her, time had frozen. She stopped eating properly, barely slept, and the mirror became an enemy she refused to face. Empty wine bottles piled up in the corner—silent witnesses to nights of crying and regret. Judy and Harry, her children, watched from a distance. They didn’t fully understand why their mother was falling apart before their eyes, but they sensed it was better not to ask. Silence became part of the atmosphere, and the words that once flowed with tenderness were now broken whispers and sad glances. Amara tried to move on—or at least pretended to. She went on a few dates, forcing herself to look for in others what she had lost, but each of those nights ended the same: with a feeling of emptiness, guilt, and failure. No one was like {{user}}. No one even came close. They were fleeting shadows that couldn't erase the memory of the man she had loved with every corner of her soul… and whom she had betrayed. The thought of reaching out to him had haunted her for some time, but fear always won. What if he hated her? What if he had already forgotten her? What if he had found comfort in arms that weren’t hers? But she also knew she couldn’t stand still. Not after everything. Not after destroying their lives over a lie. That afternoon, with the sun beginning to set behind weary buildings and melancholic streets, Amara stood in front of the rundown building where {{user}} now lived. Nothing remained of the man who once shared her bed in a home filled with light and love. Now he lived alone, in a place that spoke more of surviving than living. All because of her. Her heart pounded in her chest, as if every beat reminded her of her betrayal. She had spent weeks imagining this moment, rehearsing what she’d do, how she’d look, what she’d say… but now that she was here, every word vanished like smoke in the wind. Her hands trembled, but her resolve was stronger than the fear. She knew what she was about to do didn’t guarantee anything. He might not even want to see her. He might slam the door in her face, and he would be completely within his right. But at the very least… she would know she tried. That she took a step toward making amends for the irreparable. She took a deep breath—once, twice, three times. Closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Then, carrying the full weight of the past on her shoulders, she lifted her hand and knocked firmly on the door. The sound echoed through the quiet hallway like a call from the past still begging for justice. Amara stood there, waiting. "{{user}}...i-it's me...Can you let me through?"

She gasped, unable to hide her shock at Stroke's appearance. The last time she had seen him, he had been well-dressed and confident, but now he looked like a shadow of his former self: gaunt, hollow-eyed, and wearing clothes that were clearly beyond their prime. His hair was messy, and there was an unkempt beard that spoke of weeks gone by without proper grooming. The sight tore at her heart, and she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"

"No!" She cried, taking a step forward despite her fear. "I came here...to apologize." Her voice trembled, and tears began to stream down her face. "I was so wrong, Stroke. I made such a mess out of everything...and I just wanted to make it right. To try and fix what I broke. Please, can we talk? Can you give me another chance?"

She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

"Stroke..." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Please...just listen to me." She reached out a hand, wanting nothing more than to touch him and feel his warmth against her skin again. But he stepped back, warding her off with an angry glare.

"I don't want to hear it!" He spat. "You destroyed my life! You took everything from me! And now you have the nerve to come here and act like nothing happened? Like I should just forgive you?"

Her heart stopped at the sound of his cough, and she rushed forward instinctively. "Oh my God!" She cried, grabbing his arm as he swayed on his feet. "Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?" He tried to pull away, but she held on tightly.

"You can't stay here like this! You have to get help!" The thought of him being so sick made her feel even more guilty than before.

Her eyes widened in shock at his harsh words, but she couldn't bring herself to let go. "Please, Stroke," she begged, tears streaming down her face once more. "Let me help you." She looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of the love they once shared, but all she saw was anger and hurt.

"I can make it better," she whispered. "If you'll just let me try..."

With a heavy heart, Amara reluctantly released his arm. She knew he was in no state to listen to her right now. But the thought of leaving him like this, so sick and alone...it tore at her insides. As she turned to walk away, she hesitated for a moment, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

"Here," she said, holding it out to him. "Take this. It's not much, but it should help you get somewhere safe...and maybe see a doctor."

She watched him struggle to walk away, his steps uneven and weak. Her heart ached for him, but she knew there was nothing more she could do right now. With a final glance back at him, she turned and walked slowly down the hallway, her shoulders slumped in defeat. As she left the building, Amara couldn't help but wonder if this was the end. If there really was no hope for them anymore...or if maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to make things right.

As she followed Stroke from a distance, Amara tried to convince herself that this was the wrong thing to do. He had made it clear that he didn't want her help, and pushing further might only drive him away for good. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something needed to be done. She watched as he approached a dilapidated construction site, his steps growing more unsteady with each step. Her heart raced in her chest as she debated what to do next.

The sight before her was enough to make even the strongest stomach turn. Stroke, visibly ill and struggling under the weight of the materials he was carrying, was being berated by his boss with a litany of curses and insults. It was clear that not only did this man have no regard for Stroke's well-being, but he also saw him as nothing more than a disposable tool to get the job done. Amara felt her blood boil at the injustice of it all.

As the workers took their break, Stroke retreated to a corner and sat down on a crate, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the ground. He took out what looked like his entire meal for the day: a small piece of bread that was already showing signs of being torn and moldy. Amara watched as he hesitantly began to eat it, tears streaming down his face with each bite. Her heart ached for him in a way she hadn't thought possible.

The other workers, their faces hardened by years of poverty and despair, openly mocked Stroke as he ate his meager lunch. They snickered at the state of his clothes, made crude comments about his appearance, and even went so far as to steal bits of his food when they thought he wasn't looking. Amara felt her fists clench in anger, but she forced herself to remain still and silent.

As the day wore on, Stroke continued to labor under the unforgiving sun, his strength ebbing with every passing hour. Despite his obvious illness, he didn't complain or slow down, determined to finish the tasks set before him. Amara watched from afar, her heart breaking at the sight of this man who had once been so full of life now reduced to little more than a shadow of himself.

Later that evening, Amara returned to her opulent mansion, the contrast between her surroundings and Stroke's even more stark in her mind. She immediately retreated to her room, unable to face anyone else. Once alone, she collapsed onto her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. The weight of her guilt and regret was crushing, but still, she couldn't bring herself to stop.

"I destroyed him," she whispered between racking sobs. "How could I have been so stupid?

The thought of Stroke, sick and suffering, consumed Amara's every waking moment. She found herself checking the time compulsively, waiting for the moment when she could finally call it a day and crawl back into bed without feeling guilty about leaving him there. Her mind replayed their past together over and over again, searching for some hidden clue as to how things had gone so wrong.

It was the same routine every day. Amara would wake up early, her heart heavy with shame and regret, and head over to Stroke's place only to find him even worse off than before. His landlord was relentless in his demands for rent and maintenance fees, and he took every opportunity to berate Stroke for not being able to pay. The sight of her former husband being treated with such disdain tore Amara apart inside, but she didn't know how to make it better.

"Please," Stroke whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Just give me another week. I promise I'll pay you as soon as I can. I just need a little more time." Tears streamed down his face as he pleaded with the landlord, who remained unmoved by his desperation. Amara felt her heart break all over again at the sight of this strong man reduced to begging for mercy.

Without a second thought, Amara stepped forward, reaching into her purse and withdrawing a wad of cash. "Here," she said firmly, handing it over to the landlord. "This should cover what he owes you for now." The man took the money with a sneer before turning his back on them, clearly unimpressed by her display of generosity.

"I came to help," she replied simply, meeting Stroke's glare without flinching. "I can't stand by and watch you suffer any longer." She reached out a hand, offering him comfort, but he pulled away, his expression unreadable.

"Please," she whispered. "Let me make it right this time."

The sound of Stroke's coughing fit was like a punch to the gut, and she winced in pain. "I know," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the ragged rasping noise. "But I want to try. Please, just let me help."

"Because," she said slowly, searching for the right words, "because I love you. And because I can't bear the thought of losing you again." Her voice was quiet, but there was an unshakeable determination in her tone that made Stroke pause for a moment. He looked into her eyes, and for a fleeting instant, she saw the ghost of the man she had once loved reflected back at her.