Tuberose
At this moment, the realization hits me—I'm alone, unworthy of his love, unable to fill the void he's left behind.
As the tears continue to fall, I clutch the towel to my chest, allowing myself to grieve for what once was and what now seems to be slipping through my fingers. The dream of my own home seems more distant than ever because I can't hope for his love there, the thought overshadowed by the gaping hole in my heart. And as the evening light fades, I'm left with the echoing whispers of uncertainty, the ache of longing, and the bitter taste of being an unworthy wife.
Bab Populer