The world had become eerily quiet in the three months since Richard's diagnosis—an unnatural stillness, like the air before a storm or the hush that falls over a graveyard at dawn. He moved through the days in a fog, checking off bucket-list items that felt like hollow rituals. Nothing mattered without Sarah by his side. He had played by the rules… never smoked, never drank, worked tirelessly, and stayed loyal. And yet, the universe had stripped away everything he held dear. The emptiness clawed at him, gnawing at his soul.
It was during a restless, pain-numbed stroll along New Brighton Beach that he saw him… Tom Morris. The man who had taken Sarah from him. Richard's heart clenched as he saw that face, a smug grin plastered on it as Tom held a bottle of liquor wrapped in a brown paper bag. The girl on his arm passed a joint to him with a laugh, and the world seemed to shudder in Richard's vision.
