Maxwell (Logan)
Stood in the middle of his quiet penthouse living room, yet nothing felt quiet inside him.
The air was too still, too cold, almost as if the place itself knew he wouldn't be returning tonight.
His suitcase remained open on the couch, untouched, because he wasn't here to pack. He was only here to remember.
A single photograph lay on his palm—the one he had kept hidden deep inside a drawer for months.
Rachel. Her head thrown back in laughter as she pushed cake at him.
His own face beside hers, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed in a smile he didn't allow often.
A moment captured in a time when he allowed himself to believe he could have something simple… something gentle… something happy.
His thumb brushed over her frozen smile, and something warm and painful tightened inside his chest.
He had come here countless nights just to sit and remember their best days.
He exhaled slowly, letting the photograph lower to his side.
Tonight was different.
