"I've done things," Charlie said, looking up into his eyes full of disappointment. "Things that I am not proud of. But everything I've done, I've done to survive...And I did. I survived."
"And are you happy?" Daryl asked, using all his power to stop...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The apartment in Atlanta stood as a souvenir of a bygone era, a testament to the opulence and extravagance that once defined someone who lived there. As Daryl and Carol stepped inside, they were met with a grand foyer adorned with marble floors, polished to a gleaming shine despite the passage of time. A chandelier, now dim and dusty, hung from the ceiling, its crystals catching the faint light filtering in through the broken windows. The walls, once painted, now bore faded remnants of their former grandeur, the paint peeling and chipped in places.
Moving further into the apartment, they entered a spacious living area, where plush sofas and armchairs sat atop snow white, fluffy rug that had seen better days. The kitchen with a marble countertop, stainless steel appliances now rusted with neglect, and cabinets adorned with intricate carvings. Daryl noticed the absence of all knives from the room, as he was looking for a possible danger.
Throughout the apartment, glimpses of the past peeked through the layers of decay—a grand piano in the corner of the living room, its keys dusty and silent; a collection of fine art lining the walls, now faded and obscured by years of neglect.
Despite its current state of disrepair, the apartment still exuded an air of faded elegance, a reminder of the lives that had once been lived within its walls. And as Daryl and Carol moved through the space, they couldn't help but wonder about the person who had called this place home. A person none of them were as they couldn't even imagine standing in a place like that now. A person whose life had been forever altered by the cruel hand of fate. A person that felt the fall more than anyone.
"Let's look around," Daryl said quietly.
Daryl cautiously stepped into the master bedroom, his boots sinking into the plush carpet beneath him. The room held a somber atmosphere, the faint light filtering through the dusty windows casting shadows over the remnants of a life once lived. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faded grandeur of the space. As he moved closer to the dresser, his gaze fell upon a collection of photographs arranged haphazardly on its surface.
He wasn't a nosy person, and he couldn't care less about the person who lived here. However, the place was so out of place, he almost needed to see the face of its owner.
That's why he leaned in for a closer look. And there, staring back at him from the faded photographs, was Charlie - her bright smile frozen in time, her laughter echoing in his head, clenching his heart. She stood surrounded by her brothers, their faces filled with happiness. His heart broke a little at the sight. He never saw her so careless, so free, and happy. Her eyes were shining so bright, lightning her face...or maybe her face was lightning the photo. The moment was like a crash for Daryl, as he finally saw faces of her brothers, people so mystified that he wasn't sure if they were real.
But they were. Three tall, well built men that even Daryl would try to avoid. All of them handsome, all of them strong, and all of them gone. Three, because the last man was short and not so muscular; however, his eyes were the same as Charlie's.
His heart skipped a beat as he realized the truth -the apartment belonged to Charlie. The realization hit him like another a punch to the gut, filling him with a mix of emotions he struggled to comprehend. As he lingered over the photographs, his eyes caught sight of something glinting on the rug beneath his feet. Stooping down, he reached out and picked up the object—a delicate necklace, its chain tangled and tarnished with age. Turning away from the dresser, Daryl began to gather up Charlie's belongings, his movements methodical and purposeful. Each item he packed carried with it a piece of her past, a connection to the life she had left behind. And it was only fair to give it back to her.
He emerged from the master bedroom, a sense of purpose guiding his steps as he made his way to the office where he had left Carol. Pushing open the door, he found her standing before a large painting that adorned the wall, her gaze fixed on its intricate details. A thought flashed in his head: how Charlie would like something like that and why she would want to hang it in her living room. "It's horrible."
His mumble was well heard. Carol turned as she heard Daryl's approach, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I like it. I would like to have something like that," she said softly. "I think Charlie would've liked it."
"Yeah," Daryl murmured, his voice tinged with emotion. "She would've."
Carol turned to him, her expression curious. "What's wrong, Daryl? You found something in there?"
Daryl hesitated for a moment, the weight of his discovery pressing heavily upon him. "This... this is Charlie's apartment," he confessed, his words hanging in the air between them.
Carol's eyes widened in surprise, her hand instinctively reaching out to grasp his arm in support. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Daryl nodded, his jaw set with determination. He took out and thew on the desk one of the photos he had found. For a moment, there was silence as Carol absorbed the weight of his revelation. She started looking around the apartment in shock.
Then she looked at the man, who became even more troubled and insecure. "Have you already told her?"
"Told her what?"
"That you're in love with her." Carol studied him intently, her expression softening with understanding. "You should, Daryl. She needs to know how you feel."
Daryl's chest tightened at her words, a surge of conflicting emotions swirling within him. "It ain't that simple, Carol," he said, his voice rough with uncertainty. "There's...I could be her father. I'm an old man."
Carol's brow furrowed in concern, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. "That doesn't matter, Daryl. What matters is how you feel. Age is just a number...And your last concern in those times."
Daryl sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his insecurities. "I ain't exactly the type of guy she'd go for, ya know? She's... she's smart, and kind, and... and I'm just..."
"You're Daryl," Carol interrupted gently, her voice firm with conviction. "And that's all she needs. Someone who cares about her, who'll protect her no matter what."
