Tom Riddle, the son of the Dark Lord, has always been burdened by the weight of his lineage, destined to follow in his father's footsteps as the heir to a reign of terror. Yet, in Rosie Hart, he found a glimmer of hope-a love that made him dream of...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
🖤🖤
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE MORNING SUN FILTERED GENTLY THROUGH THE SHEER CURTAINS OF TOM RIDDLE'S COTTAGE, CASTING SOFT, GOLDEN RAYS THAT WARMED THE RUSTIC WOODEN FLOOR AND BATHED THE SMALL ROOM IN LIGHT.
Outside, the sprawling fields stretched out in all directions, covered in wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. The scenery was peaceful—almost too peaceful. It was a cruel contrast to the storm that raged inside Tom, a storm that had been brewing for exactly a year.
Today was Ana's first birthday.
A day that should have been filled with laughter, joy, and celebration, yet it was overshadowed by the deep, unrelenting grief that had become Tom's constant companion. Exactly one year ago, Rosie had died. The woman he loved more than anything had been taken from him, leaving a wound so deep that no amount of time seemed to heal it. He had tried, in his own way, to push the pain down, to bury it somewhere unreachable, but today, the weight of his loss felt heavier than ever.
He stood by the window, gazing out at the tranquil countryside, though his mind was far away. The wildflowers swayed in rhythm with the wind, their bright colours reminding him of the flower crowns Rosie used to make. She had always been so full of life, always had that spark in her eyes when she talked about their future, especially the future they would have with Ana.
Ana.
His attention shifted back inside to the small crib in the corner of the room. His daughter, their daughter, lay fast asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with each delicate breath. She looked so much like Rosie it took Tom's breath away. The same wide, expressive eyes, the same delicate features that had once captivated him. It was both a comfort and a curse, this living reminder of the love he had lost.
Tom moved quietly toward the crib, his heart aching as he looked down at Ana. Despite everything—despite the sorrow that lingered in every corner of this small cottage—Ana was a bright spot in his life, a beacon that kept him grounded, that kept him going. But she was also a constant reminder of what could have been, what should have been. Rosie should have been here, standing beside him, watching their daughter grow up. She had been so excited about Ana's first birthday, planning every detail down to the smallest thing. And now, she wasn't here to see it.
