Edwin's POV The nights are the worst. Sleep escapes me, replaced by restless tossing and turning, haunted by memories I can't shake. I keep replaying the moments that led me here the promises, the hopes, the betrayals. Every detail stings like a fresh wound, sharp and insistent, refusing to dull no matter how many hours pass. I press my eyes shut and will myself to drift away, but my mind won't cooperate. It circles back, again and again, to the same wretched loop of everything I've lost.Tonight, I sit on the couch, clutching a mug of cold coffee, staring into the emptiness. The apartment feels cavernous at this hour, every shadow stretching longer than it should, every creak of the building settling in the walls sounding like a judgment. The coffee went cold an hour ago, maybe two. I don't remember making it, not really. I just found myself here, on this couch, in this dark, the way you sometimes find yourself at the bottom of something steep and can't remember the fall.It's been
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