The breaking point of love
Adrian flicked his silver lighter, igniting a small flame that illuminated a foyer leading into a long corridor.
Eileen walked with hesitant, unsteady steps, her hands reaching out to brush against the cold stone walls. With every touch, a strange sensation of belonging, laced with deep dread, flooded her mind.
She suddenly froze in front of a round wooden table in the center of the foyer. On it sat a shattered glass ashtray, and right beside it, a wooden picture frame lay facedown, buried under a thick layer of dust. Eileen slowly leaned forward, holding her breath as she lifted the frame and blew the dust away with her shallow, trembling breaths.