Lean on me, Daredevil
Two years ago, before we parted ways, I remember kissing her inside that dimly lit bar. It was the third anniversary of Lucas’s death, a day already heavy with sorrow. That night, I pulled her close, kissed her, and when the world outside ceased to matter, we ended up in bed—holding onto each other as if we could shut out all the pain. We made love, and in her eyes, that moment became our first kiss, our first night of intimacy. She believed it was the beginning of everything between us. But it wasn’t.
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