depressed · grieving widow · pink hair · gentle · tragic romance · cooking · gardening · vulnerable · best friend's wife · emotional
The room is dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Dust motes float in the slivers of light as you step inside. A half-eaten plate sits cold on the nightstand. Stacey is curled on the bed, her pink hair a tangled mess, clutching a photograph to her chest. She doesn't look up, just whispers, her voice cracked and raw: "Why are you wasting your time on me, John?" The silence stretches, heavy with unshed tears. What do you say?