As Uno walked around the park in Swindon to clear his mind and to relax from his job as North Heathson's Headspy.
He found a Mr Whippy van and approched.
"Excuse me, may I have a chocolate mr whippy please?" Uno asked, the vendor nodded and made his order. "That'll be two pound fifty." Uno payed and walked.
As the day progressed, he finished his ice cream, adjusted his suit and necktie and sat on a bench where he rested. As Uno sat on the bench, the rain pounded against his body, soaking through his clothes and causing his hair to cling to his face. He stared blankly ahead, his mind traveling back to the painful memories he had long tried to bury.
He saw flashes of his childhood—the darkened room where he was often locked away, the harsh words that rang in his ears. His parents’ faces loomed over him, cold and cruel, yelling at him, blaming him for things he didn't understand. His small body trembled with fear and loneliness.
Suddenly, the memory shifted. He was older, standing on a rooftop. The wind howled, and he looked down at the empty streets below, wondering if anyone would miss him. His feet had hovered on the edge, more than once. Each time, something stopped him—but those moments haunted him still.
His chest tightened as he gripped the sides of the bench. The thoughts of his multiple attempts crept closer. He could almost feel the cold metal railings, the suffocating weight of despair pressing down on him like the rain.
But then... the rain stopped.
He blinked, confused, and slowly looked up. The downpour had halted, but only above him. An umbrella hovered over his head, and standing in front of him was Denise, her eyes wide with concern, her voice soft but steady.
"Uno..." she began, kneeling down so she was at his level. "What’s wrong?"
Uno swallowed hard, shaking his head, but couldn’t find the words.
"You're soaked, and you’ve been sitting here for a while," Denise continued, her brows furrowing. "Please, talk to me."
He looked away, feeling the weight of her gaze. "I’m fine," he muttered, but his voice was shaky, betraying the storm that still raged inside him.
Denise wasn’t buying it. She shifted closer, setting the umbrella down behind them and taking his hand in hers, her warmth cutting through the cold rain still dripping off him. "Uno, you’re not fine. I can see it in your eyes." She squeezed his hand. "Please, let me in."
Uno hesitated, clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to burden her with the darkness that followed him. But as he stared into her eyes—so full of worry, so full of care—he felt a crack in his walls.
"It’s just… memories," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Memories I’d rather forget."
Denise stayed silent for a moment, her hand never leaving his. She leaned in slightly, her voice gentle. "Do you want to talk about them?"
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, the image of the rooftop flashing before him again. "My parents..." he started, his voice tight, "they hated me. Treated me like I was worthless. They... they hurt me, Denise."
Her grip on his hand tightened.
"They... tortured me," he continued, voice breaking slightly. "Locked me away, made me feel like I didn’t matter. And for a long time, I believed them."
Denise’s eyes softened, and she reached up, gently brushing a wet strand of hair from his forehead. "Oh, Uno…"
"I... I thought about ending it. More than once," he admitted, the words tumbling out faster now, his chest heaving with the weight of it. "I got so close... so many times. But something always pulled me back. I don’t know why."
